#not to be dramatic but if I don’t get tickets today I’ll literally die

[wideminded-dreamer]

to everyone who has to battle it out in general sale today, may the odds be ever in your favor 🥲

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 88

Sophia, the day after her conversation with Tyche.

Thank you to @satan-parisienne and @baelpenrose for keeping me going and on an even keel! Sorry the Author’s Note is so short... I didn’t realize until I had about 10 mins before I had to be back at work that I forgot to queue this for today *facepalm*

The next day was an entire education on new places I could be sore. A hot shower and analgesics only took the barest edge off, and I ended up needing a transport to get to my office instead of my routine walk. I did my best to ignore the grin on Conor’s face every time I moved too fast and winced.  After the third time I scowled at him, I brought up my datapad and did some research, careful not to tap my legs as I gestured, which had become something of a habit.

 “That snot,” I gasped. Conor glanced at me, so I clarified. “Tyche had me doing fencing footwork yesterday…. Intermediate footwork, it turns out. No wonder I’m so sore.”

 “Least it wasn’t sparring,” he pointed out cheerfully, gently lifting my chin to get a look at my lip.  “You should have let Noah heal that, love.”

 I brushed my cheek against his hand. “I want the reminder. May even let her do it again once it heals.”

 This time, it was his turn to scowl. “Not funny.  That face has been bruised enough for one lifetime.” He gently rubbed my cheek as the transport stopped. “Okay, time to go be the boss.  No fighting with the other kids.”  Despite the joking tone, his eyes were serious as he leaned in to kiss me before he headed to his shift.

 I realized that Alistair not only beat me to work, but could apparently hear me groaning as I tried to walk, because the door opened before I was even within three feet of it.  True to form, he gave me an appraising look before his expression settled on my face. “Door get a bit mouthy today? Or did your feet decide you needed to stay home?”

 “Tyche punched me, actually.” My tone was light as I inched my way to my desk. “For defending myself. And then she decided I need more ways to defend myself, so now I can hardly move.”

 “Solid logic,” he deadpanned as he handed me a cup of coffee. “I feel obliged to point out that the coffee is hot, seeing as you display a disturbing propensity to get hurt.”

 “Very funny.”

 “You have been warned, et cetera, so on, so forth.” He waved a hand nonchalantly as he turned, bringing up my agenda for the day. “Your first meeting is the one to discuss medical testing ethics, criteria for volunteers, and determination of the necessity of the procedures. Then you have time set aside to review the status of the Galactic Core Curriculum, along with proposals for expanded learning topics and their existing analogues in the education systems of other planets - “ He paused and tilted his head. “I will never cease to be caught off guard when sentences like that exist.”

 I restrained the urge to nod - or more accurately, my back twinged with a warning not to even consider it. “Believe me, I understand. Noah and I were talking about other species a few weeks ago. Did you know there is a species of avians out there who essentially live on a planet with no surface atmosphere?”

 “The Preeyar, yes,” he sighed wistfully. “Knowing that Fermi was simply impatient has been quite eye-opening, so to speak.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong,” I conceded. “We were too young for extraterrestrial civilizations, we weren’t listening properly, they apparently weren’t trying to contact us until recently…  But they do exist.” A smile crept on my face at the idea that we really hadn’t been alone in the universe.

My office door opened without warning, and a familiar voice chimed in as Alistair turned with clenched fists. “I do argue that we are entirely too dangerous to have been contacted.” Arthur Farro stood leaning against the frame, and Alistair relaxed marginally. “At least we were until relatively recently…. Throwing nuclear ordinance at each other the moment killing each other in the thousands - rather than the millions - stopped scratching that vicious itch. Who does that?  We’re like demented eight-year-olds who got bored of burning ants and started setting each other’s hair on fire instead.”

“You really should keep that door secured,” my assistant sniffed as he closed out my agenda, right around the time he caught Arthur squinting at it.

“He has the code,” I admitted.

“Or maybe that was accidental,” our resident history teacher continued, ignoring us. “I’m a big fan of assuming stupidity instead of malice where possible.  And, dear lord, does our track record make it plausible.”  Finally entering the room, he flicked a finger at my face. “That was not, however.”

Before I could stop him, Alistair took one glance between me and my friend, and strode to the door. “No.”

“Alistair…”

“I’ll clear your calendar. No. Have a good day.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Arthur asked as the door closed behind my soon-to-be-ex assistant.

“That he’s a coward,” I muttered.

“You know damned well that’s not what I mean.”

“Tyche already decked me.” I gestured at my split lip and the bruise that bloomed on my chin overnight. “So, yeah, I know - “

“No, you really don’t seem to.”

“Arthur, stop.”

“I will not.” He stepped forward and placed both his hands, palms down, on my desk.  He knew I hated that gesture. “Bjornson’s entire narrative hinges on you being more dangerous than anyone realizes, and you putting up a display of false helplessness to make everyone trust you.  By decking one of his followers, not only did you show that you do, in fact, have violence in you - meaning that it’s now entirely plausible you’re as Machiavellian as they claim - but you’ve also gone and indicated for whatever reason that Jokull is enough of a threat to drop that premise.” Straightening, he crossed his arms in clear disappointment. “If you wanted to give him more credibility, good job. You succeeded.”

I swallowed every bit of hurt I felt at his words, reminding myself they were nowhere near as barbed as the ones Tyche had given me the day before. Instead, I tilted my head and arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you done? Did you say everything you needed to say?” I paused, giving him a chance to respond. When he didn’t, I poked harder. “Feel better?”

“Not particularly, but big picture? I’m not a terribly gleeful person, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. But yes, it is your turn now.”

“Gracious of you,” I cooed sarcastically.  “Tyche made the same points yesterday, after punching me in the face, with the added gravitas of a guilt trip served with that special seasoning of having watched me almost die and thinking I abandoned her as a child. Also three hours with a rapier, whipping my ass. So. Far more impressive, I assure you.”

“Foiled again by the smaller Reid,” he sighed dramatically before catching himself.  “Rapier, you say? I was going to say no pun intended, but I’ve decided I did that on purpose. Yep. Totally intentional.”

I rolled my eyes before pulling up my tunic to show the bruises on my midriff. “I’m not very good at it, for the record.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, saber’s a better style anyway.  And I’m not just saying that because it’s my favorite.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded, not entirely convinced. “As far as Bjornson… seriously. She gave me the scoop.  I seriously fubared the entire situation yesterday.  Apparently, our suspected cult leader only believes in physical attacks on those who would defend themselves. No honor in beating a beaten foe, et cetera.”

“Mmm hmmm,” he nodded, like I was a student he was letting reach her own conclusion.

“Which means I just made it open season on Sophias,” I groaned.

“Really, saber is much better for brawling tactics,” he hedged.

I laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t matter.  My walking privileges are revoked until further notice. Must be accompanied by one of six people, or two out of another ten, and on a transport.” The last word came out like a profanity.  It was a known fact I hated using them.

Hence why I was now being forced to, unfortunately.

“If you think there is any possibility that I’m going to argue against Tyche on that decision, I need to talk to her about that head scan,” he told me pointedly. “Then again, you and I have different definitions of the word ‘think’, but I’ll be clear - it’s not happening.  Moving target, faster than a walking pace, with a protective attachment? Which roster am I on, again?”

“Very funny. You already know.”

His expression softened slightly when he realized I was actually upset. “There is some good news in all of this.”

I threw up my hands and spun in my chair. “Oh, do tell, great military historian and warlord. What is the shining silver lining to the fact that I just gave a man who thinks I am the only thing standing between him and his New Start a golden ticket to sic his followers on me?”

“Okay, first off, sassy shit, my main career is a school teacher. I only moonlighted as a warlord to pay those apocalypse bills. Not my fault I was good at it.” Suddenly, he got serious. “The good new is, if he was too stupid to realize that your talent for inspiring loyalty meant you were a massive problem for any takeover plan, and a problem he’d have to deal with sooner or later….. Well, he’s probably too stupid to keep his little cult together much longer.  Leaders who don’t recognize more than one kind of strength never manage to build a lasting legacy.”

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair…” I said, half to myself.

“Yeah, our guy is no Ramses II,” Arthur replied.  “Besides, those who seek power are rarely good at keeping it.”

“I would have given him my seat on the Council if he’d just asked,” I admitted.

“Besides the fact that you literally just proved my point, if he was suited to the Council, he’d be on it.  It’s not like you were the only candidate.”

I shrugged. “No idea. I didn’t even know I was on the Council for the first week. I think it was a week.”

When I turned to look at him, I was met with a flat stare. “I know it was explained to you at some point.  How does that search function work?” He reached forward like he was going to tap my head before I swatted his hand away. “You were appointed to the Council to replace Simon, you represent a specific population on board the Ark, when we arrive at Von, you will serve an additional two planetary standard years before elections are held, of which you cannot be a candidate….”

Ugh. “I was put forward as a recommendation by Simon. The other Councillors put forward their candidates. The population I represent voted based on my personnel file, since no one even knew any of the candidates at that point. We’d only been on the Ark about six months. Some of us, anyway.” Glaring, I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t know how you figured that out, but I have a feeling I’m going to kill someone.”

He waved a hand at me in a very familiar gesture. “I see other people do it all the time. Jog your memory, and some phrase or word triggers it.  Cool to watch, though.” With a shrug, he continued. “Point is, Bjornson wasn’t even a candidate, same as me.”

“How do you know that?” I asked incredulously.

“Fuck, Sophia. You really need to keep track of your constituents.”

“Hey, I didn’t even want to be a - Wait. You are one of my so-called ‘constituents’!?”

“Even voted for you,” he grinned.  “Didn’t know it was you-you, but… Communications background, peaceful but intelligent attributes to balance out our resident warhawk, fair enough to offset Huynh, and you seemed like the type to actually listen to Grey, Pranav, and Eino.” He shrugged. “To be fair, I was right.”

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[rhysismydaddy]

Bad Boys of Persia - Part One

Hi! This is a new fic about the ACOTAR ships (Feysand, Elriel, and Nessian). Since everyone always describes the men of this series as having dark hair and dark skin, I thought about how they could look Persian... and then since I’m five I thought about Prince of Persia, and here we are.

Ask in my box if you want to be tagged!

Part Two || Masterlist

Her entire body hurt.

From head to toe, Feyre could hardly move. 

She was laying in her hotel room, spread out on the bed like a starfish, groaning in pain. She glanced down at her bare body, grimacing at the bright red skin she saw. 

And she’d thought the sun in her hometown in Florida was brutal.

She’d only laid out in the sun for an hour, and yet Feyre was as crispy as a piece of fried chicken. She didn’t think an hour would even give her a tan, but it had been long enough to scorch her head to toe and leave her a pathetic mass of red flesh.

After a few minutes of feeling sorry for herself, Feyre got up and dressed in a pair of loose, dark blue genie pants and a long sleeve white shirt. It covered all of her skin but was loose enough to not irritate. She wrapped the navy sari Elain had bought her around her hair so her face wouldn’t get any more sun and headed out the door.

Feyre walked down to the front desk of the resort, asking if they had a store where she could buy aloe.

“What?” the man replied, looking at her like she was crazy.

“Aloe. For sunburn.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed him her burnt skin.

He chuckled. “Ah, white man’s disease. We don’t sell anything for that in the hotel, but you can go to the market and get herbs to help.” He pointed out the door towards the crowd of bustling people buying and selling materials.

Feyre grimaced. She hadn’t left the hotel since their arrival two days ago, something her sisters couldn’t believe. She weighed her options: she could go back to her room and lay around in misery or she could suck it up, go buy some aloe, and then lay around... a little less miserable.

She thought about the disapproving faces Elain and Nesta would give her as she told them she hadn’t left again and frowned. 

It wasn’t that Feyre was trying to ruin their trip; she really wasn’t. She just wasn’t in the mood to explore a new place and be outgoing right now. All Feyre felt like doing was laying in bed and crying.

It’d been three weeks since she’d broken off her engagement with Tamlin. Three weeks since she’d found her in bed with her best friend, Ianthe. They deserve each other, she thought bitterly.

Even though she accepted what had happened and knew it was over, it still hurt. She felt like she’d wasted two years of her life on someone who didn’t ever love her. She didn’t want to date again, she didn’t want to go through the first date nervousness or awkward dates or disappointing hookups. She’d thought she’d found “the one,” but all Feyre had figured out was that love was a lie.

She wanted to be like her sisters. 

Nesta was the oldest and strongest. She’d never allowed herself to get close to anyone, so she’d never had a broken heart. She was a complete badass and she knew it, too. She’d worked for the CIA for the past three years and in that time, had become invaluable to their overseas operations. 

Elain, the middle sister, was strong in a different way. She had perfect control over her emotions and had always been a bright, happy, and loving light in Feyre’s world. She ran her own restaurant in Florida and had become one of the most successful people in their area. Everyone loved Elain. 

Feyre felt like the disappointment of the family. Sure, she was successful in her work as an artist, but no one needed her or loved her like they did her sisters. Lives depended on Nesta, and everyone adored Elain. Feyre could drop off the face of the Earth and no one’s life would change.

She’d thought that Tamlin was the one person who understood her and needed her, but it turned out he’d just been using her.

Her sisters had tried to help when the breakup first happened, but Feyre was inconsolable. She wouldn’t leave bed and only got up to get more ice cream. 

Elain had been gentle and kind and suffocating while trying to get her to open up and tell her how she was feeling. Nesta, who’d always been bad with emotions, had just thrown a suitcase on her bed and begun packing half of Feyre’s closet.

“What are you doing?” she’d asked, sniffling and wiping tears off her face.

“You, me, and Elain are going to Persia.”

“What? What do you mean we’re going to Persia?” she’d asked.

Nesta had sighed dramatically. “We’re getting on a plane. I have to go for work, and I talked my boss into giving me two extra tickets. We leave in three hours. Get up and take a shower.”

“No, Nesta, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I am not letting you die in this bed because some ugly, stupid little fucker cheated on you. Get the fuck up.”

When she hadn’t, Nesta had yelled at her and literally dragged her out of the bed and into the shower, then turned the faucet on, ignoring Feyre’s protests. 

Three hours later and many arguments, thrown shoes, and explicit gestures later, Feyre was sitting with her sisters on a plane, annoyed she’d given in.

“It’s going to be so good for you, Feyre,” Elain had promised. “Nesta is going to have fun at work, I’m going to have fun stuffing my face, and you’re going to have fun looking at art.”

She’d closed her eyes and tried to ignore her sister’s aggressive happiness. 

Thirteen hours later, Feyre was checking into the hotel suite she was sharing with Elain. Nesta, who was going undercover apparently, would be staying at a place provided by her boss, so it was just the two of them. 

Elain had thrown her suitcase on her bed and immediately gone out to the market, coming back with an armful of different foods. 

“It’s so nice out there, Feyre,” she’d said, a bright smile lighting up her face. “You should check it out.”

Feyre had just crawled into her bed, closing her bedroom door.

Two days later, not much had changed.

Feyre glanced back out at the market, noticing the chaos of too many people shouting at each other, decided facing a crowd was better than facing her sisters disappointment, and headed outside. 

As Nesta walked through the open market of Suza, Persia, she couldn’t help but feel like a failure. 

Her boss had been understanding yesterday when she’d reported no new information, but Nesta hated being a disappointment.

Especially with this important of a case. Especially when thirteen girls were still missing. 

She was hunting a human trafficking group that had taken over a dozen girls out of their bed within the past two weeks.

This was one of the most important cases Nesta had ever worked, and it all had rested on her being able to sell a story.

Nesta was bait.

Their entire operation rested on her getting the groups attention and getting kidnapped. She had a chip permanently implanted in her left heel--somewhere people were less likely to search--and the idea was that Nesta would allow them to take her, make sure she could get a visual on the other thirteen girls, then cut the tracker. 

Lucien, one of the IT guys she worked with, would be able to tell where the signal had been cut and would send her team in. 

All she had to do was get kidnapped. 

But it was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated. She’d been here for two days, and she hadn’t felt threatened in the slightest. The city was beautiful and clean and the people she’d met so far had been friendly.

Nesta was determined to make something happen today, though. 

She’d made sure to put on more makeup than usual, drawing more attention to her, and had pulled her hijab back far enough to show off her blonde hair. She was wearing a short jean skirt and a tank top, more skin than a lot of other women were showing. 

She was sauntering through Suza, looking like a naive, young, tourist, when she noticed three men, siting in a cafe at the edge of the market, looking at her.

One of them nodded and raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, and Nesta forced herself to smile broadly. 

She could see why so many women had fallen in his trap. He was gorgeous in a dangerous, exotic way. His skin was the deepest shade of caramel, hair long and curly, and body was lined with thick muscle. His eyes, the most alluring part of him, were a deep golden color, rimmed with thick eyelashes and eyebrows.

He was the most beautiful man Nesta had ever seen.

She had to restrain herself from spitting on him.

She waved and kept walking, slow enough that they could easily tail her. Only the man who’d nodded got up, though. Apparently, they thought he could handle her alone.

She made sure to ignore him as she walked back to her apartment, almost rolling her eyes at how bad of a tail the man following her was.

Nesta even made sure to take a few selfies in front of pretty buildings to really sell the story.

She went inside the apartment--the CIA kept a few in Persia for operations like this--washed up, laid in bed, and waited.

Three hours later, she heard the lock to her loft click open. She closed her eyes, ignoring the almost-silent footsteps she heard the stranger take toward her closed door.

When her door creaked open, Nesta forced herself to snore softly. 

His heavy hand clamped a cloth drenched in chloroform over her mouth, and as Nesta began to lose consciousness, she looked into his beautiful, sad eyes and thought, I’ll kill you. I don’t care what it’s going to take.

The man thought he’d caught his prey, but what he didn’t know was the girl he carried down the stairs and out into the night was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. One who wanted nothing more than to destroy his life.

Elain floated through the market, tilting her face towards the scorching sun and smiling. The hot air was full of scents of dried meat, cumin, roasting vegetables, and black pepper. 

As soon as they’d landed, Elain had gone to the nearest restaurant she could find and stuffed her face. 

She’d eaten somewhere different for breakfast lunch and dinner both the days she’d been here, making sure to talk to the chefs whenever she could.

Her travel journal was full of new recipes and spices and ways of cooking. 

This was her favorite part of traveling. Seeing how different people made food and learning how to make her own dishes better.

She walked along the street, then spotted a small, open restaurant on the corner. Morrigan, the sign read. It seemed quiet and authentic and quaint, so Elain walked in and sat at an empty table.

She loved the place before she even ordered. The walls were brick, a large mural covering one, and there was a small corner with a wood fireplace. The people were all talking softly, and traditional Benju music was playing over the speakers quietly. 

It was serene and peaceful. The entire restaurant was there to appreciate the food. It was the kind of place Elain wanted her restaurant to be. 

A server came up a few moments later, dressed in black pants and a flowing black top, her hijab a dark blue color, bringing out the teal of her eyes. She was beautiful in a classic way. 

She asked if Elain spoke Persian, and she responded a little.

“I speak little English,” she said apologetically.

Elain shook her head. “Don’t apologize for your culture. I’m in your country. We’ll just do our best.”

She asked the woman what her favorite dish was, and she smiled and recommended the Dizi, a traditional Persian dish named after the stone crock it’s cooked in. 

She wisely listened to the recommendation, and ten minutes later, Elain was eating the best stew she’d ever had in her life.

The chickpeas were soft but not soggy, the chicken was tender and flavored to perfection, and the base was powerful but not overwhelming. There was something else she couldn’t quite place, something she’d never tasted before. 

She dipped a piece of naan into the mixture, smiling happily.

After she’d downed the whole bowl, Elain decided she had to meet the creator of the dish. As she was paying her bill, she asked her server if the restaurant owner was here in her broken Persian. 

She shook her head and responded, “No, but he’ll be here tonight.”

Elain debated her options. She’d vowed to not eat at the same place twice, but she’d also vowed to talk to chefs whenever she could. And she knew when he was coming in...

She didn’t let her self debate for long. She wanted to know what the secret ingredient was and applaud the chef, even if he wouldn’t tell her.

After going back to the hotel, she took a long bath and recorded what she’d done that day in her journal. She pulled her hair back, then put on jeans and a white blouse, slipping her hair under a pink hijab that matched her lipstick. 

She smiled at her reflection before going to see Feyre in her adorning room. Elain knocked softly on the door between their rooms, going in when she didn’t hear an answer.

She walked into her bedroom, eyebrows lifting when she saw the bed was empty. “Feyre?” she called out, then smiled when no one answered. 

She went out.

Elain went back into her room, grabbed her purse and--rolling her eyes--the pepper spray Nesta had forced her to bring, then walked out of the hotel.

She smiled when she walked back into Morrigan, inhaling the smell of roasted turkey and vegetables and spices. After she got seated and looked at the menu, she ordered pomegranate soup, another Persian classic she hadn’t tried yet.

“And I’d love to meet the chef if he has a moment,” she said. 

Her server looked down at the ground, nodded, and said, “I’ll see if he has a moment.”

When her soup was brought out, she became more determined to meet him. She’d thought the pomegranate would be overwhelming with all the other ingredients, but the seeds added a crunchiness and fruity flavor to the otherwise dense stew. 

She motioned her server over and asked, “Is the chef available?” as she gave him money for the soup.

“He’s in the back,” he muttered, motioning towards a dim alley leading to a back exit.

“Can I go back there?”

He shrugged, slipped her a receipt, and walked away. 

That was strange, Elain thought, but shook the thought away as she got up and began to walk towards the back rooms of the restaurant.

The Persian symbol for “management” was written on a black door, so Elain knocked and waited for an answer.

A few moments later, she knocked again. She could see someone was there; light was coming out from underneath the door. 

Maybe he couldn’t hear her over the restaurant’s music? She tried the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked.

“Hi,” she called out in Persian as she opened the door, then froze as she beheld what was in front of her.

Her server from earlier that day was sitting on a chair, topless, clutching the huge, jagged wound across her stomach. Tears were streaming down her face as someone knelt in front of her, dabbing the area with a wet towel.

The man dropped the towel as he saw Elain, spun around, and was in front of her before she could mutter another word. He slapped the door closed, and walked forward, Elain backing away, until her back hit the frame. 

His hands planted themselves on either side of her head. 

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, voice low and heavy with a thick Persian accent. 

Elain felt like a lamb caught in a lion’s teeth. Her heart started racing and she realized she was utterly alone here. She couldn’t breathe, let alone answer his question. 

His blue eyes bore into hers, and he growled, “Answer the fucking question.” 

“I was just looking for the chef,” she blurted. “I’m a cook; I just wanted to meet the chef.”

He stopped short at that, a strange look--pride?--in his eyes for a split second. 

Then the anger was back.

“Get out,” he growled, swinging the door open.

“Is she okay? Should we take her to a hospital?”

The wound looked deep and swollen; she definitely needed medical attention. And was that... was that a bloody nail  on the ground next to her? What the hell was going on?”

Anger took over, and before Elain could talk herself down, she was shoving past him, and kneeling next to the woman, inspecting the wound closer. 

“Did you do this to her?” she yelled at the man still standing at the door. 

It was his turn to get angry. He surged forward and grabbed her arm before opening the door with such energy, he almost ripped it off the hinges. 

“Get the fuck out. And don’t come back.”

She looked at the woman again, the tears flowing freely down her beautiful face, and vowed to get her out of this place. I’m not someone you fuck with, she thought angrily as he slammed the door in her face. And I’m sure as hell going to be back.

________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Part Two.

[modestlyabsurd]

Wallflower's Diner (Loki x Reader)

The old familiar ding-a-ling of the entrance bell. You hear it every morning when you clock in for work, and all day long during your double shifts; it sings its welcome for hungry people as they come into the diner.

Wallflower's was a little twenty-four hour hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon with a nice, artfully modern atmosphere. Regulars among newcomers come in every day, greeted by a happy person and the smell of food cooking, but what really reeled them in was the tasteful, down to earth decor and style. Natural light shines through wall to wall windows. 

Happy green succulents and wildflowers sit on tables in abstract pots and vases. Bright murals of inspiring quotes swirling above skyscrapers color the walls, inside and outside. The tables were covered in reusable cloths with uncolored pictures of birds and cityscapes, and each table gets a box of washable markers to color with while they wait for their food. Even the to-go boxes are decorated with intricate designs. 

Landing a job at this gem was something to be appreciated - and you did. 

Even though you had to work double shifts five or six days a week to support yourself - the cost of living for a young person in New York was far more than you expected - you loved working at Wallflower's. It was such a happy place. 

Some days you worked the kitchen, some days you worked the front house. Today you worked the kitchen. And since it was one of those mornings where frankly you didn't feel like waking up at five o'clock, at least you wouldn't have to deal with the public. 

The morning breezed by smoothly as you sliced bread, cut fruit and vegetables and mixed pancake batter. Breakfast tickets started piling in at six o'clock. Soon, the kitchen smelled of coffee, omelettes, sweet pastries and fruity smoothies. You and the rest of the staff were popping out orders and washing dirty dishes like clockwork. A few people even dropped coins and bills into the tip jar on the order counter. 

You recognized some of the regular orders and thought of the faces belonging to them while you cooked. One came in that made you smile upon reading it; breakfast burrito with scrambled eggs, peppers, cheese, sour cream and avocado (extra crispy, smushed down flat). 

And before your mind can put it together, here comes a flash of blue as Peter Parker runs in the kitchen, peeking into the ticket window. "Hey Y/N!" he pants, resting his chin on his propped up elbows on the window. He resembles a puppy in the most ridiculous way. 

"Hey Pete! What on earth are you doing here this early?" Peter usually came in after school hours to pick up a snack - a strawberry mango smoothie on most days - so seeing him before school even began was unusual. 

"We were outta milk, so I couldn't have any cereal." 

"Really? I'd die." 

He laughs, "I know right? And plus I haven't had a breakfast burrito in a while so it works." 

"How's Aunt May?" you ask while pouring eggs onto the griddle, thinking fondly of how much she cares about Peter and how much she really deserves a vacation. 

"She's good. She's been worried a lot, though. About the internship." 

The internship for Tony fuckin' Stark. Man, that kid got blessed. 

"I'm sure she is - I mean, she's probably not ready to let go of you yet, dude. And you have been a little more stressed out lately," you fold the pastel yellow eggs on top of each other in a roll and add a dash of seasonings - onion, cayenne, parsley - just 'cause he's special. 

"Yeah, but I'm fine. She literally has nothing to worry about, I grab coffee and sweat towels for a team of superheroes. How is that dangerous?" 

You cock your eyebrow. He thinks he's slick. He has no clue that you know he's Spiderman on the weekends, and that's what he does for Tony Stark. 

But it's fun to watch him stammer and stutter sometimes when you're onto him. 

"It depends on the superheroes, I guess. What are they like, anyway? The Avengers, that is," you ask inquisitively. 

"Oh man, Captain America is so cool. He talks about his life back in the forties all the time, about the radio stations, the sports, and sometimes he talks about his time in the war and it helps me with history tests - b-but don't tell anyone that! That's cheating!" 

"You're such a goody two-shoes." Of course, so were you. It's a part of why you and Peter became friends. "Don't worry, I won't tell. What about anyone else?" you say, generously sprinkling the cheese onto his unrolled burrito. 

"Uh, oh! I - ah," a waitress places another ticket above his head. After watching to make sure she left back into the dining area, he leans even closer into the ticket window. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone this." 

"Spill the tea, Parker." 

He stares as you carefully roll his burrito up with gloved hands, fighting with himself. He promised Happy he wouldn't tell, but he wants to tell someone so bad! And he trusts you. You've been there for him; you've talked to him for your entire hour-long break of your twelve hour shift when he failed his driving test. You've helped him study at the library before. You've even given him food on the house, which he knows is on you. You're a few years older than him, but he really considers you a friend. 

As his face becomes sweaty from steam and his stomach growls at the sight of his breakfast crisping up, he gives. 

"I met Thor the other day." 

"You what?!" 

"Shh!" he smiles hugely, "be quiet! Yes, they came from Asgard two days ago." Both yours and Peter's eyes have grown wider by at least two centimeters. 

"Thor?!" 

"Yes Thor! The real Thor! And Loki." 

Your heart sank a mile. 

That can't be right. 

"Wait, his brother? The one who tried to take over Earth? Loki? He's here too? Why is he here?!" you hiss, flipping the burrito violently, the questions tumbling out before Peter has time to answer them. 

"Hold on, hold on! Wait! He's good now! He's different! He doesn't want to kill anybody!" 

"You talked to him?!" 

"Yes! Well, I didn't really talk to him much, but he did say hi to me when Mr. Stark introduced us. Then he disappeared for the rest of the day." 

"Not suspicious at all!" 

He chuckles at the whisper-yelling you're both doing. Thankfully, he'd expected such a reaction. "C'mon, I know it sounds crazy, but Thor says he's had a change of heart. Maybe he's worth a chance, y'know? I mean, he hasn't hurt anyone yet. Well, actually he did - " 

"I don't even wanna know," you close your eyes and wave your hands, dismissing the thought of whatever it was. 

"It was just a prank! It was actually pretty funny." 

"I'll take your word for it, loser." You wrap his extra crispy, smushed down flat food in some recycled paper, then drop it into a bag with whimsical designs all over it. You write on it with a sharpie, You're really not a loser. "Actually, y'know what? I wanna know all about this later. It sounds too good to be true." 

"Believe it, babe. Keep the change!" He throws five dollars at you and it lands on the hot griddle and before you have time to berate the little rat for contaminating and for calling you babe, he's running away. The door ding-a-ling's as he bolts through it. 

You're left, picking up the bill off the stove before it catches fire. The burrito only cost a dollar and some change, so that was a fat tip; especially for a cook. 

You pocket the money, shaking your head and smiling to yourself. "Have a good day, loser." 

~

Aside from the usual lively, tiring high you get from working, talking with Peter was the highlight of your day. It left you eager to know more about the Avengers and their stories, about history, about Asgard, about space, about everything. 

You kept having to stifle a nagging emotion - anxiety? fear? maybe just nerves - when your mind pulled to the fact that Thor's brother Loki is on earth at this very moment. Only by grace were you not affected by the attack on the planet years ago, but the damage was done regardless. You were merely lucky. 

The disgust and disdain wanted to take over and sour your outlook, but pure curiosity overpowered that. Peter claims that Thor vouches for Loki now. He's biased, you think to yourself, before the angel on your shoulder pipes up, So are you. 

By the time you realize you're having a mental conversation with yourself, the countertops are wiped sparkling clean and ready for the five o'clock turn of shifts. The natural light had moved, casting longer dramatic shadows in different patterns across the checkered floor and painted walls. 

Part of you was a little bummed that Peter hadn't returned after school to pick up his usual smoothie. You'd really wanted to learn more of the Avengers and the mysterious Loki. If only you could ask May, but Peter said he wasn't supposed to tell anyone and by the sounds of it, he hadn't. You clock out at five-fifteen. Alas, you'll just have to wait.

~

Thank heavens the next day wasn't a double shift, since you were waiting tables. Although you still had to wake up at five in the morning. 

The sun shined through the diner windows in warm yellow rays, a nice contrast to the brisk morning chill. The week had ended, taking some of the initial hustle and bustle with it. Rush hour didn't start until afternoon hours on weekends which gave you and your co-workers a bit of down time to relax.

But to your surprise, a hostess flags you down in the kitchen as you're pinning an order to the ticket window. She pulls you by the arm out of earshot and says, "There's a party out there and they asked for you to be their server. By the way, it's the Avengers."

You stare at her, but you don't see her.

"Huh?"

"The Avengers are here."

Breaking yourself out of your anxious stupor, you roll your eyes incredulously. "Quit lying. It's the Delgado's, isn't it? With their prim and proper etiquette and - holy hell."

You peek over the bar.

It's the Avengers.

Habitually you begin counting heads. So, it's not all of them; there are six heroes and you only count five heads - is that Peter? - sitting along the makeshift party table toward the shadowed back of the dining area. That's definitely Peter, with Thor, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Jesus gremenies Loki is out there too?!

Only when a sharp pain shoots from your bottom lip do you realize you're chewing it, thinking of all the ways to curse Peter later. 

In a rush you thank the hostess and pat down your waist apron to make sure everything's there, then you're standing at the front of the table overlooking the civilian-dressed Avengers.

Your usual, partially rehearsed introduction goes exceptionally smooth. "Hey guys! Welcome to Wallflower's! My name is Y/N and I will be your server this morning. Is this your first time here?" 

Tony Stark who sits at the end like a throne speaks up, "It is, thanks to the kid, here," he mumbles, elbowing Peter in the arm. "He says he knows you." 

"Yes, unfortunately, I do know Mr. Parker - " 

"Hey!" Peter suddenly stops petting the succulent centerpiece at your fake cringing, making the whole table laugh and smile. All but one. Beside Peter. 

One of the two sitting closest to you. 

"Well, I dunno what all he briefed you on, but as you can see your table is a giant washable coloring book," they look down, suddenly noticing all the little swirls and blank spaces empty of color. You pull out small boxes of assorted washable markers from your apron and while you pass them around, realize you don't have enough for everyone. 

"That might be the niftiest thing I've ever seen," says Steve Rogers. Captain fucking America! He's already drawing on his space. 

You beam at them, "Yeah! It's one of my favorite things, getting to see the way people draw and color on their tablecloths. But it looks like I'm one box short for you guys, so I'll bring one more with your drinks. Everyone know what they're having?"

The first three, Tony, Peter and Steve, order their fountain drinks without a problem. The last two, however, haven't the first idea what a Coca-Cola or a Sprite is. Peter takes it upon himself to try and explain the concept of carbonated drinks, but fails miserably. Leaving Thor and Loki with even more confusion.

"Do you serve alcohol?" Thor asks innocently, making you nearly bubble over laughing.

"I'm afraid not. But we have coffee, sweet iced tea, orange juice or just plain water if that'd be better," you look between them, and you can't hold Loki's gaze for too long. It's intense, almost invasive; unlike the blond brother's lighthearted aura. 

Immediately Thor answers, "I'll have black coffee. Very hot, please."

You take a mental note of that request, a stupid smile covering your face. Then you look to Loki, who is now choosing to stare intently at his menu. "And for you, sir?"

He contemplates his answer as if he's being interrogated.

"Plain water will be fine."

As soon as you're out of their view, you scramble away to the kitchen with a rush of unreleased adrenaline coursing through you. Your mind's racing, your heart's beating and you're pouring the heros' drinks like a mad person. Hell, you almost spilled hot coffee on your hands from shaking so much. 

The worst part was it came from you fanning over the Avengers.

You reminded yourself to focus. It was a rather slow afternoon - especially considering the circumstance that would presumably bring people to see - but there were still three other tables you had to tend to.

On your way back to the dining room you almost forget to grab another box of markers before your hands are full with the drink tray. Weaving through a couple customers and other waitresses you make it to the long table.

You circle the table to sit everyone's drinks in front of them. Everyone's locked in a childlike trance as they color and doodle on the tablecloth; you glance around and notice the one who isn't. No one gave Loki any of the markers.

"Here's your markers as well," you lean over and extend your hand with the box to Loki. He averts momentarily from staring at your face to the markers. His mouth opened and closed, not sure of what to say. So he extends a frighteningly pale hand and takes them. 

He accidentally brushes his fingertips to yours.

You both jerk away.

Damn, his hand is freezing, you thought, hiding your hand behind your back and flexing a fist; it lingered like a static shock.

He's gotten wide-eyed now, nearly apologizing. You can't help but feel bad for snatching your hand away like that.

"Cold hands means a warm heart. A-at least, that's what they say," you stutter. Loki retorts, looking down at his markers.

"You must be quite cold-hearted then."

"Loki!" Thor scolds. Although the others were now giving him dirty looks, you sensed not a bit of malice in his comment. In fact, your cheeks were heating up a great deal. 

"Please, Y/N, don't mind the asshole," Tony says waving his hand in Loki's direction.

"Oh believe me, I've dealt with far worse just this week. Being called cold-hearted is a nothing," you assure them. The genuine grin on your face is helping a lot. "Are we ready to order?"

With that, you scribble each of their orders down onto your notepad before gathering the menus and making way back to the kitchen. The steamy heat hits your face like a splash of cold water. Exactly what you need.

You almost want to giggle out loud at the fact that you're semi-nailing being the Avengers' waitress. They're happy, they're comfortable, they're talking with each other. Coloring the table, still. You glance their way as you cover your other tables' refills and cheques and notice that every time you do, Loki looks up at you. Piercing enough to make you quickly avert.

The clock ticked away, closer to your thirty minute break. As much fun as you were having, the anxiety level was up there. Your mind went back to how you'd seek revenge at Peter. Maybe you'll add a big splash of lemon juice to his smoothie on Monday. Or cayenne pepper. That would be entertaining.

Once you get out of the groove, the nerves crawl up. So you occupy yourself by clearing off a couple of finished tables, balancing them on your arms to the kitchen to be washed. When you get there, the cook is placing the last plate of the team's order on the counter. Perfect timing, you think to yourself.

Defying all odds that have previously proven you a clumsy mess, you singlehandedly bring out all five plates into the dining room and make it to their table. Instantly, the markers are forgotten and the smell of toasted bread, sweet tomatoes and fresh herbs arouse the guys from their drawing. Tony, Steve and Thor are practically drooling from hunger, Peter makes grabby hands for his food.

Loki's food is served last, following the order in which it was taken. You set his plate in front of him, covering whatever he'd been diligently drawing.

He looks up at you again, meeting your eyes, and holds them there for a second longer. 

"Thank you."

That feeling in your hand earlier? It's back, but now it's spreading through your sternum.

"You're welcome."

You find yourself still staring even after he's dropped his grateful gaze to his plate. 

Air shoves its way into your chest.

"Alright! Please enjoy, and you guys just let me know if you need anything." A round of muffled appreciation sounds come from the team as they've already began shoveling.

What am I feeling? Pre-heart attack symptoms?

People are clearing out, leaving only the team and two others dining. This gives you a chance to do some cleaning up before you take your break. And a chance to sort your thoughts.

Is he mind-controlling you? No way, that couldn't be. There's no way he'd be going places like normal people with them if that were the case. But that sure is how it feels. Like you can't get rid of the thought. The coldness. The way he holds your gaze.

Who knew that simple eye contact could arouse so many feelings?

It also feels completely and morally wrong. Love at first sight is a farce, let alone with someone of Loki's caliber. He likely looks at everyone like that. A manipulation tactic. It's not even the first time a customer has tried sweet-talking a waitress. Of course, calling someone cold hearted is certainly a unique way of sweet-talking.

But it was the way he said it!

You're no fool. You know when you're being flirted with. Or are you? Who said that one innocent comment is flirting? You very well might be a fool at this rate.

Beads of sweat have bubbled on your forehead. You wipe them on your forearm. 

Before you know it, your section of the dining area is clean. Spotless, even. You take the rag to the back to be washed with the dishes. Glancing at the clock, a sigh falls from your lips; you let another waitress know you'll be taking your break.

Being on your feet for four hours straight left them aching. Sitting on the curb was a great opportunity to stretch your legs out and pop the muscles in your back as well. You revelled in the breeze fanning your flushed face, watching the city bustle by. People on their phones, texting or talking, bums smoking cigarettes.

You stared at the scuff marks and worn spots on your boots. Distracting. From the fluttering in your chest. What an strange feeling. Warm, exciting. Queasy. Longing. All somehow from a single touch - a mere meeting of the eyes. I must be insane.

The shrill ding-a-ling of the door brings you back to reality.

Thumps hit the door behind you. Footfalls rumble the concrete and before you process it, men come barreling out and run down the sidewalk. One takes off in flight in a wisp of blond hair. It's then you realize that was Thor, and the rest of them following in their inferiority.

Tony Stark then leisurely exits Wallflower's, hands in his pockets. As if none of that happened.

Dumbfounded. That's the word.

You raise your head to look up, since he's blocking the sun from your back. "Uh, shouldn't you be with them?" you ask with a nervous chuckle.

"Probably. But I had to make sure you got this." He hands you a small white envelope with the Stark Industries logo on it. Without another word he begins strolling away toward the others, now a few blocks down.

Huh. You already miss them. Him especially. Dammit.

You open the envelope and inside is a flat stack of green. Twenties? You count them, trembling.

A three hundred dollar tip?!

~

Upon further investigation, you found their plates cleaned and strewn about the table from the dramatic exit. As you took them, you looked at everyone's drawings and colorings. Peter had nearly colored a paisley print in reds and purples, Steve had began a detailed doodle of Wallflower's Diner from the outside (he never finished the sign), Thor and Tony had the absolute messiest pictures ever, and Loki.

Goodness gracious, Loki.

He'd written admiring adjectives beginning in letters that spelled your name in loopy, beautiful handwriting. He'd began drawing intricate filigree around it, but didn't get a chance to finish. You traced the designs, engulfed by the artistic quality. Overwhelmed with sudden emotion. Breathless. No one's ever done anything like that for you...

So you're not insane!

Maybe you'll reconsider taking revenge on Peter...

[settle4half]

can you answer like.. all of those aesthetic questions??

(YOU KNOW ILY RIGHT - also under a read more for those who want to know me better i guess)

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself?

yesterday, bc the new bts album came out and i was humming anpanman ~

fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know?

there’s no question of truthfulness that i want to know the answer of.

daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

i was born on the same day/year as jungkook from bts. i’m still alive.

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to mind, recent or otherwise?

wow, idk?? spending a chill afternoon with one of my best friend? supporting her??

matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?

i would drop out of university, get a loan from a bank and travel the rest of the year.

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things?

visit another country this year, pass all my exams this session, get a job during summer.

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail.

one of the most hard-working, talented and good people i know. literally the prettiest person, very understanding and loving and supportive. being around her literally puts my soul at ease. very funny, nerd-ish in the best way possible of the term, living too far-away from me, wish i could always hug her and kiss her puffy cheeks. she made me who i am today.

moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood?

not really, when i think back, it’s generally the bad thing that comes to mind; i was a very lonely child well into my teenage years, and my relation with my parents only recently became good enough to call myself pleased as well. it could have been WAY worse, so i’d say it was just okay.

stars: when did you last cry in front of another person?

yesterday, of frustration.

plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them.

my friend (soul sister really) carmela whose @ i don’t know anymore bc i’m a mess on tumblr. she loves the stars, she knows the stars, and it’d be the most magical thing in the world to be there, watch the admiration on her face, hear her explain things to me.

converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them?

sure, i’m an open book.

lace: when was your last 3am conversation with someone, and who were they to you?

my best friends, idk, last time 3am caught us all together, maybe a couple of weeks ago.

handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one person, what would you say and to whom?

ugh idk, i have nothing to say to anyone.

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes?

I LOVE THEM i have brown eyes and i love them bc it’s either starry-eyes or melted chocolate eyes AND BOTH are magical i love brown eyes so much.

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally.

“I have cried myself to the person I am today” bc it’s my own life journey, tbh.

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far?

“Overcoming and accepting the wrongs of my self”

overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars?

BTS CONCERT TICKETS !!! travel!!!

combat boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way?

i feel like i am!!! i can get over so many things in the name of love (of all types)!!! and i hate it bc no one actually appreciates it!!!! fuck off!!!

winged eyeliner: write a hundred word letter to your twelve year old self.

you are so damn angry all the damn time and rightfully so. you’ll go through shit for a while still, but you’ll meet people so extraordinary that you’ll cry in a bus station because you feel too blessed and happy to be met with kindness. i miss your desperate determination and resolution. you will create so much out of it and i’m so proud you made it. i know it’s not easy, it never was. you’ll change so much, i can barely recognize myself in you anymore. you’ll learn so much more. hey, regrets are piling up. but go forward, i’m waiting.

pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel?

pastel at heart, punk at exterior.

tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain.

I’D LOVE THEM ALL. i want all the piercings, and tattoos are cool but i feel pressured to find some i really love b4 getting any. i’ll eventually get both tho!~

piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not?

depends on my mood, my general go-to make-up consists of face-cream, eye-shadow and mascara, and maybe lipstick. i barely put any face make-up bc i’m lazy, but i’d love to look on fleek all the time.

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way.

BTS saved my life, and i’m not just dramatic when i say this. they literally help me be a better version of myself every single day.

messy bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them.

“Don’t break your tenderness.”

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel.

basically summerwell 2016/2017, i looooved the years&years performance, they were my fav band at that moment, and i cried throughout all and i just?? it’s very emotional, the kind of energy that forms in a space where you know everyone loves the same thing as you do, wow!!

grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say?

can i be a cheese ball? bts: we see you.

space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised?

i have!! cups (one for each type of beverage) some pen holders, tissues, and that’s kind of about it ~

white bed sheets: what is your night time routine?

read fanfiction for 3 hours until you fall asleep.

old books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know?

don’t have such a thing.

beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why?

i’d like green at some point, but i’m quite pleased with a black bob at the moment ~

eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do?

my 2 uni best friends, my other 2 best friends and before mentioned carmela. let’s see japan together!

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them.

i prefer to keep them secret until i can make them happen heheh, but you can figure them out from answers on some other questions here... oups.

painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up.

the bed-sheets ghost.

lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high?

uhm kissed someone?

thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars?

kill someone, but tbh i’m so desperate for money that i’d step on any other of my principles.

storms: you on only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why?

why is this question so radical omg!!! song: paradise from bts and person.... my best friend that i described (heheh sorry you got stuck with me)

love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realise you’re in love.

yeah..... with park jimin from bts, this is SO LAME but like??? i literally smile like a fool when i see his selfies and i feel my heart grow 10 times in size when i hear his voice and i just want him happy forever.

clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair?

yeah sure, and i guess i tried it, but i don’t think short hair really fits me, not with my current body proportions.

coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone?

americano, it’s not that hard, anyone can work that one out.

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now?

my friends and BTS.

[britishchick09]

danger force double livewatch!

today we’re doing a special livewatch... a double feature! i’ve been looking everywhere for ‘test friends’ and ‘lil dynomite’, which were taken down by dailymotion for a while. now that i’ve finally found them, it’s time to see what i’ve been missing!

first up is ‘test friends’!

oh no why is ray angry

WHY CAN’T BOSE FEEL HIS ARMS

is this an intricate training thing?

bose: ‘orphan sock!!!’ OMG NOOO!!

OMG the socks exploded!!!!!

wowza what awesome laundry! :D

hey this is the clip i watched on the henry danger force youtube!!! :D

YAS!!! :D

chapa: “harmony check!” all: “in tuuuune!!!!!” :D

what cute poses! :D

oh no they have 7 POSES???

miles thought captain man would ‘just be there’ lol :D

think is the forbidden ‘t’ word *LOUD GASP!*

captain man: “ts” the kids: ??? captain man: “the same” the kids are me when my friends say internet slang

miles said ‘chicken tendies’ ^_^

schwoz: “great group of kids!” captain man: “too bad i can’t trust them...” schwoz: *le GASP*

oh no captain man’s gonna prove that the kids are untrustworthy DID YOU SEE RAYA AND THE LAST DRAGON

speaking of that awesome movie captain man’s acting a lot like raya...

captain man’s spying on them! :o

even swellview academy has surprise tests!

ray’s putting the answers on his podium... ;)

he’s talking like a fancy guy and chapa’s like ‘why are you talking like a book” lol :D

NO MIKA!!!!

mika: “no!!!” ray: “yesssss.....” ray WHY YOU SO SNEAKY

bose: “this answer key is tearing us apart!” you’re tearing me apart, answer key!

aaand he literally tears it apart! nice bose! :D

schwoz wants ray to let go but all ray does is want to make the tests harder... WHY ART THOU A MAN OF SILLY PROPORTIONS RAY MANCHESTER???

wait did silly man just say ‘man ladder’

the intro is at 7:30! how long that is! :o

i love how ray tells them to shut up lol :D

a cute bird house! :D

ray said ‘talketh’ coolio :D

oh no... TRUST FALL!!!!!!

bose saved him with levitation and the other kids grabbed pillows! how sweet :)

mika: “obvi” how ts of you mika!

ray wants to test them... WHEN THEY”RE ALONE >:)

bose is being prank called by ray aka ‘bose of the future’ AND OF COURSE HE’S GONNA FALL FOR IT HE’S BOSE!!!!

oh bose just said ‘wrong number’! how very mature of him!

YAAAAS RAYAAAAA!!!!!!!!! :D

ray’s prank for miles was luring him to ice cream while mika gets a speech review? ok...

CHAPA HAS TO USE AOL BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T HAVE A PHONE OMG

no miles found the ice cream.... AND HE’S TEMPTED!!

ray: ‘in the future, ray turns evil!” monsty reference? :o

ray: “destroy ray... no matter how good looking he is!” lol :D

miles went for carrots! :o

aww bose ‘loves ray too much’ :)

ray: “e before i except in july! amen!” ha ha :D

MIKA SCREAMED INTO THE ESSAY LOL!!!

the swellview version of instagram is swellgram :D

schwoz says ‘way’ like ‘vay’ and i love it :D

awww!!!! :D

oh bose believed ray!

schwoz spilled the beans! :o

OH NO THE LAUNDRY LEVEL IS AT 1000!!!

the baby goat bleating is so cute! ^_^

the vid went to an ad just as schwoz said ‘manche-’ and i thought he was about to say ‘manchild’ lol :D

mika: “i passed!” miles: “we all passed!” goat: “MEHHHH!!!!!!!!!” :D

oh no are the kids gonna do something bad :o

OMG miles just called ray ‘rayman esther manchester’ OHHH!!!!!!! :o

ray wanted them to eat a scorpion WHY RAY

miles teleported to ray and instantly went back lol :D

goat: “buhh jerry!” OMG IT TALKED!!!

ice cream party! :D

schwoz: “it’s a real milestone” eyyy ;D

schwoz says it all the time lol :D

ray’s been gone FOR A WEEK????

they all think it’s a prank but what if it’s real?

IT’S BEEN ANOTHER WEEK WHY

bose: ‘he’s taken this fake desert test really far” i don’t think it’s fake bose...

OMG RAY NO

why does he look like al from quantum leap but crazy af

THE KIDS TURNED HIM OFF

and they got to do the supes illustrated shoot all on their own!

WAIT DID CHAPA SAY THEY WERE IN PHOENIX???? :o

ray BUSTED!!!!

oh no is chapa sending the prank pic she deleted

dan schneider who lol :D

last but not least is ‘lil dynomite’!

omg there’s smoke everywhere!

and a treasurechest monster? :o

awww mika’s locker is her only personal space :/

she wants ray to put the monster in miles locker lol :D

the monster wants to eat swans ew :/

bose said the ‘mangenda’

ooh they said the title of the ep!

awww lil dynomite is cute!

he says ‘hello sir!’ :D

he’s ‘4 feet 10 inches of-’ neverending joy and smiles?

a country duo is signing a song called ‘almond milk’

66 DOLLARS A TICKET WTF

‘life size board game night? gayle from bob’s burgers wants your number ray...

ray during game night: “did i ever tell you the last time i saw my father?” ...ok :/

country lady: “there’s some flashbacks at table 5″ lol :D

they’re called court and courtney! :D

chapa: “almond milk feeds my soul!” YAS!

mika: “who would miss almond milk?” lady: “it’s funny you’re missing almond milk right now!” OHHHHH

OMG THE OTHER LADY SAID ‘BEAUTIFUL WIFE’!!!! :D

lady: “we have another song for you. it’s called..” her and other lady: ‘SHUT YOUR MOUTH’!!” lol :D

ray: “anybody hungy?” lol :D

ray: “you love my manflaps!” THAT PANCAKE NAME SOUNDS DISGUSTING OUT OF CONTEXT

OMG LIL DYNOMITE IS THE 5TH MEMBER

AND THEY KEEP SAYING ‘MANFLAPS’!!!!

he looks like a smol henry... :o

chapa said ‘booty hurt’ lol :D

why is the chest monster still there?

OMG CAPTAIN MAN ASKED THAT MUST AS I TYPED IT! :o

lil d stole bose’s mangenda job! :o

CAPTAIN MAN CALLED BRAINSTORM ‘BRAINBENDER’ NOOO :o

lil d reminds me of speedy alka seltzer with his ‘gee whiz!’ attitude

NO LIL D HAS MIKA’S LOCKER!!!!

miles *screaming*: “YOU MONSTER!!!!!!” you tell him miles!

the news people are back!

captain man and lil d played a non-copyrighted cover of ‘blinding light’ lol :D

lil d is making hair gel WITH CONDORS NO >:(

bose: “oh where is my brain?” it’s in a storm EYYY :D

lil d emphasizes ‘captain MAN’ and it’s so weird

the chest monster is singing lol :D

OMG HOMER SIMPSON BROKE THE NUCLEAR REACTOR

mika: ‘how did you get hired here?” nuclear lady: “i slammed the interview!!!”

it’s MELTY NOOO!!!!!

lil d: “wish me luck mans and sirs!” gee whiz what a quote!

HOLY FRICK WAS HE MELTED????

geez that’s rough!!! :o

chapa: “poor little guy... he just wanted to help” aww they care about him :(

captain man: “that better be awol!” awol: “i’m sorry what” captain man: “NOOOOO!!!!!!” AND HE BROKE THE LAST CONDOR EGG EVER NOOOOO!!!!!

chest monster: “never would’ve happened if you brought the chest monster along!” chapa: “SHUT UP CHEST MONSTER!’ yeah!

RAY WAS GONNA ADOPT LIL D :o

chapa’s trying to hit ray but she keeps hitting lil d HE GONNA DIE

why did the chest monster say “get wrecked” :(

ooh schwoz hologram

awww schwoz built the healing suit to give him powers!

OH CRAP LIL D DED!!!

captain man was gonna feed lil d to the chest monster :o

OH CRAP U DED C MAN!!!!!

HOLY FRICK

awww the kids are defending captain man!

AND LIL D JUST CALLED HIM A MANCHILD! :o

wait captain man has daddy issues

THEY’RE ALL SCREAMING

NO LIL D NO!!!!

GO DANGER FORCE!!! :D

ray right after lil d and awol teleport away: “...we still doing movie night?” lol :D

those were the new(ish) danger force eps! i-

*record scratch*

wait...

THERE’S MORE!!! you thought this was just a double livewatch? i’ve sneakily turned it into a TRIPLE livewatch! this has been a lot of fun so we’re watching the other ep i missed out on!

the final ep of this forcetastic livewatch is ...‘monsty’!

double bubble toil trouble... :)

mika walks in screaming “WHERE’S MY MEAT???” just go to wendy’s!

mika is wearing captain man���s clothes because she did a bad thing! :o

ooh thunder!

spongebob who?

chapa: “you go to your dentist once a month?” lol :D

bose: “33 months? that’s like a hundred years!” miles *softly*: “buddy...”

mika: *breaks a glass* MIKA’S BROKEN A GLASS MIKA’S BROKEN A GLASS! (paul would be proud!)

is this what she’s freaked out about?

lol :D

bose: “WE LUV YOU DANNY CHEEEESST!!!!” double lol :D

there’s a ‘struggle for candy equality’

bose: “what’s a jury duty?” captain man: “when you turn 18- like i did a couple years ago” more like a billion couple years ago! :D

did mika go to jury duty to make up for the glass?

ray thinks left handed people cheat on taxes why

HE MEMED THE MEME!!!!!

and he thinks all people have 2 first names lol

WOAH mika was gonna CLONE ray???? :o

a tongue is god’s napkin

THUNDER STRIKE!!!

omg TINY RAY!!!!!

chapa: “is there a tiny ray shooting a blaster?” ray: “there’s an old ray doing that but that’s another story for another week” great fourth wall reference! ...and possible ‘gnight everybody?’

oh no she cloned ray THE SCARY WAY???

mika: “this is where the story starts to get weird” chapa: “starts to?” lol :D

OMG IT RAYENSTEIN!!!! :O

so that’s monsty!

monsty peed everywhere ew :(

twins! :D

also that’s monsty’s pee bucket double ew :(

chest monster was teleported away! rip chestie

bose keeps calling ray ‘sir’ is that like lil d?

i wonder if that’s a real phone number...

danny chest: “now we have... 100 dollars in pledges” ...oh :/

chapa called him ‘danny boi’ lol :D

DANNY’S THREATENING TO LAUNCH THE GANG AWAY

captain man: “surprise villain! classic!”

they were locked up and captain man said it was a classic!

jennifer lawrence donated 10 thousand! :D

launching off of mountains only ‘hurts for a second’ according to ray

WHO JUST GOT A PEE BUCKET HEAD :o

mika: “captain man wants us to say cool stuff before we use our powers!” how very sailor moon of you ray!

mika called bose ‘honey’ lol :D

CHAPA WANTS HIM TO LIFT THE ANVIL

miles wants monsty to help!!! :D

why is there dramatic music playing in the monsty teleport flashback

awww :D

awwww!!!!!! :D

HE’S IN THE DUNGEON WITH CHEST MONSTER

YAS CHEST MONSTER!!!

bose dropped the anvil on captain man WHY

chapa to mika: “SCREAM GIRL!!!!” YAS! :D

omg DUST :o

mika: “monsty’s coming through that door right now!” monsty: *doesn’t come through that door* awk-ward....

HE BROKE THROUGH THE DOOR YAS!!!! :D

danny hit monsty NOOOO :o

mika: “can you zap monsty?” chapa: “i can, but that’s mean” mika: “i know, but-” chapa: “i’ll still do it tho” lol

YAS MONSTY HIT DANNY WITH THE ANVIL!!!! :D

oh no is monsty gonna accidentally launch them

captain man go YEET!

monsty: “rut roh!” *wah wah wah wahhhh...*

how fancy!

captain: “time to distribute the employee of the month award to someone who has had great courage and sacrifice... mika can you get out of the way please” lol :D

aww monsty is the employee of the month!

AND MIKA IS PROUD!!!! :D

and schwoz did jury duty :) *wah wah wah wahhhh!!!!*

that was a great trio of eps! it was fun getting back to danger force and i can’t wait to see what will happen in the next eps! :D

[cockymclaughlin]

85 questions

tagged by @heatgeneratingtechniques

— what was your last…

1. drink: uhhhh water? i think? 2. phone call: a coworker 3. text message: my mom 4. song you listened to: my poor brain- foo fighters 5. time you cried: monday 

— have you ever…

6. dated someone twice: nooope 7. kissed someone and regretted it: i regret that i’ve never kissed anyone, does that count? 8. been cheated on: nah 9. lost someone special: eh. sure. 10. been depressed: *fingerguns* 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: just that one time. and i didn’t throw up until the morning after. 

— fave colours

12. orange 13. dark green 14. gold

— in the last year have you…

15. made new friends: uhhh sure? i think? 16. fallen out of love: well. probably.  17. laughed until you cried: literally all the time. i’m fuckin hilarious. 18. found out someone was talking about you: i think so, actually lmao 19. met someone who changed you: nah. 20. found out who your friends are: this year hasn’t been that dramatic 21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list: nooooope

— general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl: nearly all of them 23. do you have any pets: two cats and a rabbit! 24. do you want to change your name: no, mia is a pretty dope name. 25. what did you do for your last birthday: got super duper drunk, played dnd as a character very very cleverly named rave rohl who just wanted to knit a vest, a vest, a vest for you. it was great. 26. what time did you wake up today: 7:45 after all 5 of my alarms went off, just like every day. 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: either sleeping or drunkenly watching youtube i’m not sure 28. what is something you can’t wait for: foo fighters concert on the 22!! also kind of nervous tbh it’s general admission tickets and i’ve never done that before? 30. what are you listening to right now: stranger things have happened- foo fighters 31. have you ever talked to a person named tom: i’m?? sure that i have??

32. something that’s getting on your nerves: my brother seems to always be in the bathroom when i need to be in the bathroom and then i have to go use the downstairs bathroom and that’s far more movement than i need in my life 

33. most visited website: tumblr 34. hair colour: rn black but naturally blonde 35. long or short hair: long 

36. do you have a crush on someone: when don’t i have a crush on someone is a much better question 

37. what do you like about yourself: literally nothing whoops 38. want any piercings: eh, not that i can think of, really. not enough to spend real money on it anyway 39. blood type: tbh i have no fuckin clue lmao  40. nicknames: just dumb ones from my family 41. relationship status: single til i die 42. sign: capricorn 43. pronouns: she/her 44. fave tv show: hannibal! 45. tattoos: i.....have tried valiantly to keep count over the years but i’ve recently lost count. somewhere in the 20s i think? most of a disney sleeve, 2 randl, 2 adam lambert, a hannibal, an origami fox, quotation marks, and picasso’s sketch of a butterfly. i think that’s it? not sure anymore. 46. right or left handed: right 47: ever had surgery: yep! rip gallbladder. 48. piercings: septum, three in each ear lobe, and each cartilage. 49. sport: yay sportsball 50. vacation: the only vacation i’ll be taking any time soon is if i finally have that mental breakdown that’s been rearing it’s ugly head and just drive my car until i run out of money for gas 51. trainers: i don’t have any

— more general

52. eating: i just had mac and cheese 53. drinking: water 54. i’m about to watch: the new nicki minaj videos 55. waiting for: a sense of purpose

56. want: a nap 57. get married: heck nope 58. career: mostly i just wanna lounge by a pool and drink mimosas 

— which is better

59. hugs or kisses: i imagine i’d like kissing a lot probably 60. lips or eyes: i’m a sucker for mouths 61. shorter or taller: taller taller taller i’m short enough for the both of us 62. older or younger: older 63. nice arms or stomach: i honestly couldn’t give a single shit 64. hookup or relationships: both of them are scary and also never going to happen i am a heap of trash poorly disguised as a human being 

— have you ever

66. kissed a stranger: no  67. drank hard liquor: all the time 68. turned someone down: ummmm yes? i think 69. sex on first date: neither of those things 70: broken someone’s heart: probably not lmao 71. had your heart broken: i don’t have a heart 72. been arrested: nope 73. cried when someone died: well yeah 74. fallen for a friend: ‘fallen’ is a bit much, but suuuuure 

— do you believe in

75. yourself: no! :D  76. miracles: also no! :D 77. love at first sight: love is faaaaaaaaaake 78. santa claus: i am 23 79. angels: no lol 

— misc

80. eye colour: blue 81. best friend’s name: pretty sure my brother hayden is probably my best friend even tho i sorta want to stab him rn 82. favourite movie: emperor's new groove 83. favourite actor: i don’t uhhh have one of those i don’t really watch movies or tv very much whoops 

84. favourite cartoon: bob’s burgers 85. favourite teacher’s name: mrs. betty 

i’m supposed to tag people but uh go ahead and do this if you want my dudes! 

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 30905/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4

Read on: Ao3

They wander out of Mamie’s just as the sun is beginning to set. Golden hour, Emma thinks it is called.

“So, how much have you seen of Misthaven?” Asks Killian.

Emma frowns, thinking of the Misthaven University library and the endless bowls of cappuccinos at Mamies.

“Hah,” Killian laughs, “That’s what I thought. Too much time with our darling friend Blanche Neige, and hardly any time spent exploring the thriving metropolis of Misthaven.”

Emma chuckles. She thinks of the past few hours she’s spent with Killian in Mamie’s. They’d exchanged favorite quotations, scenes, and characters from Blanche Neige. They discussed all of their other favorite reads. It seems that Killian is quite well read, his favorite books spanning from Dickens to Rushdie. She’s discovered that he’s not just ridiculously good looking, he’s also thoughtful and has a soft spot for literature.

“Hey,” Emma protests, “I have a lot riding on Blanche Neige right now.”

“Yeah, right, your whole future, I know,” Killian snorts, “But you can take one night off from books.”

Emma’s eyes narrow. What does he mean one night? They just agreed to be friends, not to-

“Emma, just an hour or two of sights in the city,” He offers, “Just that. I’m not planning on coming home with you after, if that’s what you thought I was on about. I mean, we could arrange that too, if you wish.”

Does this guy ever stop with the flirting?

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, but manages to let out a little smile, “Okay, fine, one evening off. And nothing more.”

Killian grins. He’s so open with his emotions. He wears his heart on his sleeve in a way that Emma has never done. She can tell how he genuinely feels about each of her responses, whereas she lives to be an enigma.

“Have you been on a river boat tour?” He asks, “They’re quite popular for tourists, but they really are good fun and a nice, proper tour of Misthaven.”

Emma shakes her head, realizing how little time she’s taken to enjoy Misthaven.

“Let’s do that shall we?” He suggests, “At sunset, the city will be very photogenic.”

She swears that the French bit of his trace-of-a-Misthaven-accent comes out a little more as he talks about sunset. And yeah, it’s kinda doing something to her. Stupid attractive voice.

“Yeah, sure,” She agrees.

They walk along the quay to where the tours leave from. Killian buys two tickets and they step onto the boat.

Emma hasn’t been on a lot of boats in her lifetime. One time a group home went on a boat tour of Boston Harbor. She doesn’t remember much of it, only that her hair was in a braid that day and one of the more annoying boys kept tugging on it as she tried to look out at the city. When she was in high school, on her trip to New York with Ingrid, she remembers taking a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. She remembers seeing the skyline of New York on the way back, stately and ruthlessly modern against the sky.

Both of those boat rides were rocky, lurching violently as they traveled, but this boat is smooth. She and Killian find spots upstairs, on the outdoor deck. They lean against the rail, watching the Misthaven flag that hangs off the back flap gently against the backdrop of the river and hills.

“So,” Emma says, turning to Killian, “Obviously, you know all about my life as a student and my thesis- but what about you?”

“What about me?” Killian says, crossing his arms over the rail with smirk.

“I don’t know,” Emma shrugs, “What do you do?”

“It’s going to sound a little dim, after our discussion about literature,” he says, scratching behind his ear nervously.

Why is that so attractive? Calm your loins, Emma Swan, he’s literally scratching his ear.

All the same, she feels weirdly hurt by his admission. She’s never been the kind of person who things herself above others. She’s spent most of her time at Duke feeling less than her peers who lived far more privileged lives than her.

“It’s okay,” Emma says, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Remember the bad childhood thing? It’s made me significantly less judgey than most people in academia. I got really lucky and that’s the only reason that I’m working on a PhD and not cleaning toilets.”

Killian nods, his face solemn and a little gentle, “I’m a bartender.”

“Nice,” Emma says, not waiting a beating, not wanting him to feel bad, “Does that mean that as your friend I get free drinks?”

“Hmm,” he says, his easy smile returning, “Not because we are friends, just because you’re hot.”

Emma dramatically huffs, because it’s her instinct to react that way, but there is a small bit of her that relishes that he thinks that she is hot. Okay, maybe more than a small bit.

She has to stop it. She can’t be swooning over this guy, even if he is charming and attractive and loves her favorite author. She doesn’t date at all. It’s self-preservation. And if she is going to survive finding funding and finishing her dissertation- she needs a much self-preservation as possible.

“What about before that?” Emma prods, trying to distract herself from becoming a love-sick puppy.

“I thought we weren’t getting into the dark childhoods today, love,” Killian said, his face becoming solemn again.

“Sorry,” Emma said, pulling an apologetic face, “I was just curious. Mostly about your accent. It’s more English than Misthaven.”

Killian nods, “I moved to the UK when I was twelve.”

That revelation helps her to connect the dots of confusion that have been mingling in her head about Killian’s backstory.

“Oh,” Emma blurts, “Is that why your name is funny? Killian isn’t a very Misthavian name.”

“It’s an Irish name,” Killian explains, “My mum was Irish. But that’s not why I lived in England.”

“Oh,” Emma says, softer. She notices the was, where she thought there would be an is. She realizes they are hedging along the topic of sad childhoods, a conversation that she definitely doesn’t want to unpack. She’s known Killian for two days, she definitely doesn’t want to be recounting the orphan story to him.

“She, uh, died,” Killian says, “Not long after I was born. My brother took care of me. He had an Irish name too- Liam.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me the sad story,” Emma says, noting another past tense where she expects a present one, “I’m sure you want to enjoy this boat ride without dredging up every horrible memory you have.”

He gives her a grateful smile.

It really is beautiful, the boat ride- though his smile is too (not that she’s thinking about it). The city drifts behind them. The opera house is glowing in the evening light. The adorable old town buildings jut out in angles as they creep up the hill, looking like a child’s town toy set. On the other side of the river, she sees the sunset reflected in the windows of more modern office buildings. She can see students lofting on the quadrangles of the campus. Misthaven is beautiful at sunset. Killian was really right about that.

“But, if you were wondering, before that,” Killian says, returning to her question, “I worked at a bookshop in London. I really miss that job.”

Emma looks up at him. The light brings out the flecks of red in his stubble and she marvels in this discovery.

“I think the best jobs are ones where you are surrounded by books all the time,” Emma says, dreamily, stretching.

“It was great,” Killian says, becoming animated once more, his hands suddenly moving as he talks. “I could recommend books, read behind the counter during lulls. There was a coffee shop in it too. I learned to make really nice cappuccinos.”

“The smell of coffee and books?” Emma says, “Sounds like the dream.”

“I really was,” Killian says.

“Why’d you leave?” Emma asks.

Killian shrugs and she assumes it’s part of the long sad story he isn’t ready to tell. Her heart breaks a bit at that. He seems graceful now, happy enough, with a lost look that lurks behind his eyes at moments when he isn’t paying attention. She knows he must have been through some hard things.

“I decided to move back to Misthaven after the Dark Time ended. I missed home. But, I’d love to have a bookshop of my own,” He confesses, “I’ll die happy if I can open my own bookshop.”

Her heart now melts a little bit for him. It’s such a gentle dream to come from man as disarmingly attractive and hopelessly charming.

“That’s what I was going to use the money for,” He tells her, “Why I wanted to go into that deal with the man in the pawn shop.”

“For your bookshop dream?” Emma asks. She had imagined that he’d want the money for personal use, maybe a nice house or an easier life, but not to open a book store.

He nods. She smiles at this idea. She thinks her motivation of wanting a PhD in literature was soft, but Killian’s dream also eeps a sort of gentleness as well.

“We are such nerds,” Emma laughs, “Wanting a large fortune to spend on our bookish dreams.”

Killian gives her a tight smile. In a flash, she feels as if they are kindered souls. They’ve both had really tough lives. They’ve probably spent a lot of time alone, without families, fighting for their own selves because there wasn’t anyone else to. But books are their solace, the bit of hope, the passion that kept them from giving up. She knows in a second that Killian understands her fierce love of literature in a way that her privileged university peers, or even Belle, could never truly understand. Killian knows what it was like to be saved by book. To have books as your only companion.

In this revelation, Emma feels something bubble up inside her that she can’t restrain. A whole glob of feelings for Killian. She doesn’t want them. She isn’t ready for boyfriends or dating or relationships. But yet the feelings explode into her world, unable to be quashed, unable to be brought back in.

So, she does the only thing she’s good at: bottles it up. The feelings go into a bottle, into the wall of bottles.

“Tell me about what the bookshop would be like,” She says, pressing further into the rail of the boat, watching the ripples that the wake makes as it coasts through the water.

“I don’t want anything huge,” he says. “Just a small shop would be lovely. Two floors, I think, with a coffee bar in the back.”

She nods, imagining it already. She pictures it in rich dark wood, like the belly of ship.

“I think I’d like to have reading groups there,” he continues. “Maybe workshops for aspiring writers, or readings from local authors.”

“I’ll be there the second you get Blanche Neige to read,” She says.

“Believe me, if I ever get her, or discover her identity, you’ll be the first to know,” He vows.

“Same,” She agrees, letting herself bump into him (in a purely chummy way).

He looks back at her with an expression of tenderness, of kinship- that she feels herself draw away again. She moves a fraction over, but just enough to feel the space form between them. It’s a game she constantly plays- don’t get too close, don’t let those feelings out.

They are silent for a moment and the boat leaves the river to move into the channel. The skyline of Misthaven turns to silhouette against the dusky rose sky. Emma can trace the top of the opera house, the university library, the cathedral tower. She can see in the distance the taller, modern buildings of the business district. But her eyes linger on the castle, perched on the hill, hovering over the city.

She thinks again of Emma, the other Emma. Princess Emma.

She thinks of the revolution, the story that Professor Hood told her of his time in hiding, his wife’s death.

“Were you here during the Dark Times?” She asks, turning to Killian, trying to fit his story into the history of the country.

His eyes are fixed on the castle as well, “A bit yes.”

He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it adorably. There is pain in eyes as he looks at it.

Emma sees him open his mouth and she stops him, “Hey, we aren’t talking sad stories, remember? You don’t have to tell me about it.”

He shakes his head, shrugs, and reveals, “You should probably know, well, because I think this is how the whole thing the other night came to happen- I used to live in the castle.”

All of a sudden, Emma can picture Killian as a child- almost too well. She imagines him with a mop of dark hair and freckle smattered face. She pictures him dressed in finery, the kind of thing you’d wear at a castle.

“Were you royalty then?” She blinks, the reality of his confession hitting her. He must have been pretty important to live at the castle. She knows he is a bartender now, in the way that the revolution made paupers out of many greats from Misthaven, but she imagines he must have been very distinguished to have lived in the castle. Maybe a duke or lord…

He shakes his head, giving her a half grin, “No, Emma, I wasn’t anything like that. My brother was a guard at the castle and the royal family was kind enough to let me stay with him in the castle. We had a small room in the basement. It wasn’t much, but I took lessons from the royal tutor and we got better food than we would have on our own.”

“Your brother Liam was a guard?” Emma asks, her mind still caught up in his previous statement, tracing the words over and over in her head. They brought back an echo to her, of something. It’s like she’d spoken the words before.

“Yeah,” Killian says, “Why?’

Emma shakes her head, brushing off the sense of déjà vu, “Sorry, it just sounded familiar. Something about that.”

“It’s because he was with the princess when she disappeared,” Killian explains, before swallowing hard, “He fled with her to America, to take her into hiding. But something went wrong, his remains were found in the Hudson River.”

“Oh,” Emma says softly, reaching out to Killian, “I’m really sorry, Killian. Truly.”

“It was years ago,” He says, “I lost him when I six. But you’ve probably read it in an article somewhere. Everything about the lost princess seems to mention Liam in it somewhere.”

“So, you knew her then?” Emma asks, “Princess Emma?”

He smiles at her, “I knew a little girl who’d run down corridors and play silly games with me.”

“You were friends?” Emma asks.

“I suppose,” Killian says, “When you are the only two kids in the castle, you stick together. She was younger than me though, so we weren’t terribly close.”

Emma nods, silently, her eyes still looking up at the castle on the hill. The pieces start to come together for her.

She looks enough like the lost princess. She has the right name, the right accent. Damn, she even has that scar. She’s desperate enough to need the money, still despite everything.

Killian knew the princess. Killian has the connections to really sell their story. The queen might actually listen to him.

Maybe she was wrong before. Maybe this is the fairy godmother opportunity that’s fallen into her lap again. She’d been foolish not to try for it.

“What if we really did this?” Emma asks, turning from the rail to face Killian.

“Sorry?” He says, “Do what?”

“Convince the Queen I’m the princess,” Emma says, “We could do it. Between your history with the crown and my uncannily good looks, we might actually be able to pull this off.”

Killian pushes his lips together, a small frown forming, “We aren’t going back to that man. That awful, impish man. Let’s not return there.”

Emma shakes her head, “We don’t need him. We can do this just the two of us.”

“How would we even begin to do that?” Killian asks.

Emma smirks, as the boat loops around and heads back into the river, their horizon turning to nothing but sea before them.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” She says, letting her smirk turn to a grin, “I’m like really good at research.”

“Ha,” Killian says, following Emma off of the tour boat, twenty minutes later. “You said you said you weren’t going to invite me home after our soirée, yet here we are Swan, heading back to your place.”

“Oh shut up,” Emma says, fake annoyance in her voice, “You told me that you don’t have Wi-Fi at your place, so we are going back to my apartment to research. Research, Killian.”

He chuckles, glad that Emma is sassy enough to match him. He’s only picked up the flirting and innuendos after bartending. He realized that his good looks coupled with a few compliments and an eyebrow wiggle are enough to garner a few extra tips and sometimes drinks from his female (and some male) clientele.

“Ah right, research,” He says, smacking his head, “Thanks for reminding me Professor Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, as she seems to adorably do frequently, and he follows her in the direction of the tram.  It’s just across the river from where the boat docked. They cross a bridge towards it. It’s a cute bridge with ornate iron designs and one covered with love locks.

“I thought this was just a Paris thing,” Emma says, nodding to locks.

Killian shrugs, “No, apparently, they are littered all around Europe on bridges and benches.”

“Seems kinda anticlimactic,” Emma remarked, “Like oh hey, let’s put a love lock on a bridge- but not the bridge, not even in the City of Love, just another random bridge in another random city.”

He laughs at her rant, “Well, Swan, if I had thought about getting you a love lock before, I’m scratching that thought now.”

She hums a bit, surprising him with not rolling her eyes.

They finish crossing the bridge and head to the tram station. Emma swipes her metro card moving through the turnstile to the awaiting train. Killian pushes himself above the barrier.

“I could just swipe you in, you know,” Emma offers.

“Nonsense, Swan,” he says, flashing her a smile. “I’ve yet to get caught. Besides, we are about to convince someone that you are a lost princess as part of a money-making scheme- we’ve got other things to worry about.”

He thinks he sees her shiver and he regrets bringing up the devious nature of their scheming. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty for it or anything akin to that. She was crafty to think they could pull it off on their own. He thinks she’s right, with a little research it’s very possible. They have a right, he thinks, to pursue the possibility of this. There is too much lining up for them not to try.

He takes a seat beside Emma and the train moves. He doesn’t know where Emma lives, but he isn’t surprised when they get off at a stop in one of the young neighborhoods not too far from the university.

“You’ve got a place here?” He asks.

“I’ve swapped with a student who is in the states for the semester,” Emma says, “I was surprised by how nice it is.”

He’s surprised as well when she leads him up the apartment. Once she flicks on the lights, it reveals a bright, white space with a few house plants and vintage posters on the walls. There is a large bookshelf, where Emma’s books have neatly been added beside some that the previous apartment owner left behind. There is a funny contrast between her tome of Infinite Jest and an old biology textbook in Dutch. He admires her full row of Blanche Neige books, each and every one there on her shelf.

“Make yourself at home,” Emma says, “Would you like some tea?”

“Wouldn’t mind a cuppa,” Killian remarks, as he sinks into her sofa.

He watches her fuss over the kettle. A few strands have escaped from her bun, and trickle loosely around her face. She’s hung her red leather jacket by the door, so she wears only her romper now. The thin, dark straps create a contrast against her sharp collarbones. She’s lovely.

He’s thought that for a while now. As they chatted over coffees, as he watched her in the golden sunset, as they chatted on the boat, as they giggled on the bridge- she’s truly lovely. She has hard edges, shaped by a mysterious past, but underneath it all she’s full of passion and creativity and drive.

She returns to him with two mugs of milky black tea.

“Thanks, milady,” He says.

“It’s your royal highness, to you,” She corrects, laughing.

“That’s the spirit,” Killian says, taking a sip of the tea.

“So, where do we start?” Emma asks.

“I think we need to figure out a way for you to befriend the queen,” Killian says, “She’s quite approachable for a queen. I’ve met with her since she’s returned.”

“You have?” Emma asks.

Killian flinches, “At Liam’s funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emma says, putting a gentle hand on Killian’s arm.

“No, it happened a very, very long time ago,” Killian says.

“Well, I think we should start by researching the queen then. If we figure out where she goes in town, where we can find her- maybe then we can negotiate a way to make her acquaintance,” Emma says, her practical academic voice kicking in.

“Right on, Swan,” Killian agrees.

She pulls her laptop out of the bag and flicks it open. He’s surprised at just how fast she types, as she taps in, “queen of misthaven.” She instantly clicks on a wiki article that appears first in the search results.

Killian watches as a familiar picture of Queen Mary Margaret fills the corner of the screen, a description detailed beside it describing her life.

Emma makes a little choking noise as she looks at the screen.

“Swan, are you alright?” He asks, lifting a hand to stroke her back.

She puts the laptop down on the coffee table in front of her. She tucks the wisps that escapes from her bun behind her ear.

“Wait, that’s her?” She manages, “That’s the queen?”

“That would be correct,” Killian replies, “Our royal majesty, your mum, in the flesh.”

Emma purses her lips together, picks at her nail for a moment. He can tell that she’s thrown by the discovery.

He wonders for a moment if she really is the princess. Maybe she is the princess and she’s startled because she remembers. Maybe everything is coming back to her. Well, it would certainly make everything easier if Emma was actually the princess.

But then she says, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I know her.”

“You do?” Killian asks. His heart skips a beat.

Could she really be her? The Princess? He’d believe it.

“I met her at the opera,” She explains.

At the opera? Emma’s never struck him as the opera going type. He’s always written it off as a posh thing that was out of his league. But then again, Emma is a PhD student. She is out of his league. She’s the kind of intellectual type that doesn’t spend time with scum like Killian.

“I got a free ticket from the foreign student association,” Emma says, “It was actually pretty horrendous. But anyway, I ran into this woman in the bathroom and she was trying to convince me to come back to the opera even though this one sucked. She offered me free tickets to a ballet on Friday and I accepted them.”

“And this woman was the queen?” Killian asks.

Emma nods.

“Well, Emma, I think our plan just got a lot easier,” Killian says with a grin.

“I think so,” Emma says, and he can tell reality is hitting her. They really do have a chance at this.

“You said the opera was Friday?” Killian asks.

“I have two tickets,” Emma replies with a nod.

“Hmm, well, Emma Swan, fancy an opera date?” Killian suggests.

“Ugh, with you?” She jests, “I guess.”

“Oh sod off,” he tuts back.

“It’s sod off, your royal highness,” she corrects again.

“I really need to start working on that,” he laughs.

“Yeah, you do,” she says, her voice full of confidence.

His brain starts churning, thinking through the reality of this plan. They’ve nearly accounted for everything- expect for one thing.

“Emma, before we do this,” he says, hesitant, “There is one thing we should do.”

She cocks her head, “What is it?”

“Well, as much as I hate that man, he was right. You do need a scar to match the one the princess has,” He says.

He hates to think of marring her porceline skin with a knife. He hates to think of doing anything that the horrible man wanted them to do. But it would be a shame for the whole plan to fail just because of a small, but crucial detail.

Emma dips her head demurely. “Well, actually, we might not have to.”

She moves to reveal her opposite shoulder. His eyes drift from her lovely sharp collarbones that he noticed earlier, to where a small silver line begins at its base and travels over the curve of her shoulder.

“I’m not sure if it’s the right shoulder,” Emma begins.

“It is,” Killian says.

Her eyes widen.

“I remember the day she got the scar,” He says lightly, “She was on her pony and had a fall, cut her shoulder on a rock.”

“Oh,” Emma says.

He reaches out a hand, letting a finger trail along the slightly puckered skin. Emma shivers and he worries that’s gone too far. Maybe his touch is an unwelcome memory of the hooded man.

“Why? How did you get yours?” He asks her.

Emma shrugs, “I don’t know. I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“Emma,” He says, smiling, “You realize we are hardly going to have to lie to pull this off. You are truly the perfect woman for this opportunity.”

There is a part of him that wants to say something more. He wants to tell her that she’s beautiful, that she’s clever, that’s she’s the perfect woman in general. But he holds it back. They are going to be business partners. She already has enough on her plate between this scheme and her academic work. She doesn’t need his unwanted affections. Maybe another time. Maybe in the future when she’s finished her thesis and he’s financially stable. Or maybe never. She’d likely be better off without him.

“Would you like another tea?” Emma asks, shaking him from his melancholy.

“Oh no, Swan, I should be off,” He says.

He stands to head to the door and she rises beside him.

“Well, I’ll see you Friday, then?” She asks.

“Yes, Friday indeed,” Killian says.

She goes to open the door for him, but then pauses, her hand lingering on the knob.

“I’m really glad we’ve become friends, Killian,” She says.

He lets himself smile a full grin, “I am too, Emma.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who cares about Blanche Neige as much as I do,” She says, a little blush gracing her cheek, “It’s nice to have someone to talk about this stuff with.”

“Likewise, Swan,” He says, “Truly, I’m very fortunate that you’ve come into my life.”

“Thanks for the boat ride,” She adds, “Maybe you could show me more of Misthaven sometime. You know, when we aren’t coming up with money making schemes.”

“I’d like that very much,” He says, “I’ll think up something.”

“Well, till Friday then,” Emma says, opening the door.

“Till Friday, Swan.”

Tagging: @sambethe @lenfaz @pocket-anon @the-corsair-and-her-quill @kiwistreetswan @princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story @katie-dub

[vonriiegans]

Asch the Bloody hates my fuckn guts: a rant by me

hey. hi. hello.

I’m a Tales of Link player. I’ve been playing since the initial Global release way back when (with a couple months break during this time) anyway, that’s besides the point. I’ll just get right to it.

Asch the Bloody hates my fuckn guts & wants me dead.

now you may think “woah, a lil extreme there don’t you think?” hahah. no. shut up. you have no idea how hard this past year has been. allow to me to start with a short backstory.

I became a Tales fan in the year 2012, when I purchased Tales of the Abyss for 3DS. I fell hard for this game (it’s my fave game of all time omg) & almost as much as I fell for Abyss, I fell for Asch the Bloody. what a great guy. he was my first Tales love. I loved - & still love - everything about him. but then, something happened... or more specifically...

Zelos Wilder happened. ...no really, that’s it. Zelos Wilder happened. he became my favourite Tales character - & my favourite character of all time in general. yet I didn’t really accept Zelos was my favourite Tales character until shortly after - & I mean, shortly after - Tales of Link Global dropped. p much I solo yolo’d the Chosen of Tethe’alla Zelos & fuckn cried

that was when I noticed things... started to happen. or should I say, not happen.

so we all remember that first Tales of the Abyss summon in TOLink yeah? yeah. I do too. it featured Tear, Jade, Guy &... Asch. I saved a lot of hero stones for that pull aaaaaaand. yeah it ended in disaster. I know it’s a gacha game & 5* aren’t guaranteed, especially the one you want (trust me, I play Love Live!) but I still pretty beat up that I didn’t pull my beloved Asch. I got over it eventually. & then, a little while later...

the Six God-General Summon happened. another chance for Asch!

lol. no. I pulled Arietta. which was fine! at the time, she was my best Leader so hey! thanks Arietta! ...but Asch...

this trend seemed to continue for a while. every time an Asch showed up in a special summon, I would try for him, only to fail. but then... something great happened! on a random 50 stone pull, I... I...!!

I PULLED COMMON POOL ASCH!! now I know you may be thinking “what? you got an Asch? he doesn’t hate you then, smh” hahah. no. we’re only just getting started.

so I was happy with my Asch, still am frankly. he’s my leader of my main slash team & he’s great. I buffed him up with herbs, chocolate, you name it. & theeeeeen

Rainy Day/Tone summon. I wasn’t ready for this, as I didn’t think it would hit Global so soon & it also happened during my couple months break, as mentioned above. but I managed to pull off two 50 stone pulls aaaaaaand-

nothing. BUT I had enough tickets from those 2 pulls for one GUARANTEED RAINY CHARACTER.

THIS WAS IT. THIS WAS MY FUCKN MOMENT. ASCH THE RAINY, YOU ARE MINE--

Kohaku.

siiiiiiiiiiigh

so yeah. sad about that. but Kohaku’s art was really cute so yknow what. that was fine.

we’re almost at present day now!

so you remember the recent “type summon” thing, right? Rainy Day Asch was there... you can guess how that turned out. I pulled a fuckn 5* Kanonno but no Asch. srsly.

now this is where things get really good. & by really good, I mean really really REALLY fuckn bad.

the Asch/Luke Soul Arena. the special Asch/Luke sommon! THE SPECIAL “ONLY FEATURED 5* ARE THE 5* IN THIS SUMMON!

THIS. WAS. IT. MY MOMENT. MY TIME TO SHINE. ASCH’S TIME TO COME THE FUCK HOME--

...I’m sorry what.

o...okay. I had a 50% chance to pull an Asch. EACH. TIME. I pulled one of these Lukes. & let me just say, I love Luke Fon Fabre. no, “love” is an understatement. this kid means the world to me, I could write an essay but Luke isn’t my focus right now, so we’ll stop it there. in any case. I didn’t get Asch.

my sister laughed at me after I showed her this, so she did a pull on her account and. well.

the following is a dramatic reenactment of what occurred next

I was not happy.

flashback to last week, & the Soul Arena began. today marks the last day of the SA, &, as of writing this, the last 13 hours of the SA. I figured, “I have enough for 3 solo yolos. might as well try for that Asch before the summon disappears.”

3*

3*

“well, this isn’t good. I should stop & keep these 6 stones I have left. but there’s a reason why they’re called SOLO YOLOS”

4* animation ensues. “ah, this is shit-- wait... WAIT! SARA & KANA ARE HERE?! IT’S.... BECOMING A 5*!  ASCH! ASCH THE BLOODY--!”

...

... ...

... ... ...

...I’m sorry what.

I pulled... every. single. featured. Luke Fon Fabre. in this fuckn summoning banner. each time. was a 50% chance. to pull Asch. & each time. I pulled...

... ...

I’m tier 1′ing Asch’s arena. I’m literally getting back into TOLink after my couple months break TIER. 1′ING. ASCH THE BLOODY’S SOUL ARENA. & he just...

hates

me

so much.

because I simply... simply... stan Zelos more than him...

I’m dead. murdered. slaughtered. deceased.

let me die

[theramblingonesie]

Let’s Talk About Death, Baby

I’m writing this blog post-Dia de los Muertos, preparing for my return back to the U.S. for a quick(ish) visit. I can see light again, but I’m not fully back above ground.  To say that Mexico has never been gentle with me would be a lie.  She has been incredibly kind and giving.  But like a mother with tough love, she has also mercilessly kicked my ass for my own good.

When I book trips to different locations, most often I fantasize about how dreamy it’ll be.  I can’t wait to roll around in the nature, the parties, the exploration, the rest, and new and wonderful experiences.  But when I book a ticket to return to Mexico, my immediate reaction is fear.  Mexico doesn’t let me get away with anything.  You want to explore and understand the dark sides of humanity?  You want to teach this material?  You want to be a part of the revolution? Then you need to live it, you need to die in it, and you need to be reborn with the strength to hold it. She cuts and cuts away at me until I’m emotionally strung up and bleeding out (sometimes physically; I’ve been known to get my period either early or late to line up with my visits so I definitely bleed at least once here).  Don’t wanna see that thing right there? Too bad; LOOK AT IT. Don’t wanna know that stuff about that person? WHOOPS, some things you can’t unknow!! Think you’re doing sooo great, self? Nope, you’re not, you’re very flawed and you’re gonna eat your own shit and cry about it every day until you figure out how to deal with it.

Cool.

That sounds so dramatic! I know.  I think that all the time.  You know how much more I’d love to be fluffy like more of my friends? You know how much I’d like to be able to not care? Believe me, the isolation feels pretty awful most of the time.  But this is the contract I negotiated from the first moment I conceived of The Scarlet Tongue Project.  This project was born out of Mexico, and continues to grow there. I have been navigating the underworld since its conception, and the belief that I have a choice at this point is laughable (cry-laugh) illusion.  She lets me leave when I’d like, yet with the understanding that once I catch my breath and grab a glass of water, the work will continue.  We’re not done. I’m not sure when it’ll be done, but I feel confident that it’s not forever.

So who is “She”? I use this pronoun when I refer to Mexico, because to me she’s Mother.  That seems like such a strange thing to say since I’m not Mexican, yet somehow this is our relationship.  But within her vast richness, I have formed a humbling relationship with Santa Muerte.  Who is Santa Muerte?  Her history is a brilliant and deep one of compassion and perseverance through colonialism.  I’ll attempt to tell a quick story and some history, but I’m piecing this together from several sources and am likely to be wrong, so please do your own research!

Santa Muerte, or Our Lady of Holy Death, is a Mexican folk saint.  She also goes by other names such as Lady of the Shadows, Lady of the Night, Lady of the Seven Powers, White Lady, Black Lady, Skinny Lady, and Bony Lady. While she is honored today in modern Catholic culture, her roots are traced back to pre-Columbian times.  Her exact origins are debated by historians, but research finds that Mesoamerica held a reverence for death across many cultures and religions.  She is frequently related back to the Aztec Goddess, Mictecacihuatl, Lady of Death. She ruled alongside Mictlāntēcutli, King of the Dead, in Mictlan (Aztec underworld).  One creation myth tells the story of the deity Quetzalcoatl (“feathered serpent” in Nahuatl) descending into Mictlan upon the dawning of the 5th sun (present era) in order to restore humankind on earth from the bones of those who have gone before.  In Aztec belief, bones were like seeds: everything that dies goes back into the earth, and from that, new life is reborn. Quetzacoatl traces the path of the sun down through the nine realms of death until he reaches the palace of the Lord and Lady of Death.  There, he begs Mictlantecutli for the bones so he may repopulate the earth. Skeptical of this idea, the Lord asks what’s in it for him.  Quetzacoatl assures him that humans will, of course, be mortal, and that all bones will be returned to Mictlan.  Lady Death seems pleased by this, and convinces the King to say okay.  Through a series of tests that Quetzacoatl cheats his way through, Mictlantecutli agrees and lets him leave the underworld with the bones.  As he walks out, the Lord and Lady begin to feel that they’d been deceived, so they send their servants to dig a hole for him to fall in, and birds to peck the bones. Quetzacoatl manages to escape, though with broken bones, and this is why people are built of all different shapes and sizes.  The remaining bones were ground up in a bowl and sprinkled with the blood of the gods to restore them to life, and distributed across the land by Cihuacoatl (“Woman Serpent”).  Thus, the story tells us the belief that humankind was born from the penance of the gods.

Whoa! Intense!

Because many pre-Columbian cultures often honored death as a natural part of the cycle of life, it was very common to pray to Lady Death for Her compassion and that she watches over loved ones when they pass.  In Europe, skeletal figures were honored during times of sickness as symbols of overcoming death.  The Catholic Church referred to them as “Holy Death”, as the form of death of one who has fully confessed their sins.  “Holy Death” came to be known as female, as she was derived from the Roman Parcae, or The Fates.  The three Parcae determined the destiny of every mortal and immortal.  The first was Nona, who spun the thread of life on her spindle.  The second was Decima, who measured the thread of life.  The third was Morta, who cut the thread of life and chose the way a person would die.  When European culture ravaged Mesoamerica, the beliefs merged under the guise of Catholicism, and we arrived at Santa Muerte.  She is depicted in the European form as a cloaked skeleton with a scythe, but she is honored and prayed to more in the form of her pre-Columbian roots.

As death is not only accepted, but honored and celebrated in modern day Mexico, naturally is Santa Muerte a highly regarded saint.  People don’t only wait until funerals or big celebrations like Dia de Los Muertos. She is prayed to year-round for a variety of reasons- health, luck, protection, love, etc. But why is a death saint so popular?  One largely held belief is that in death we are all equal, and therefore the Mother of Death has compassion for all humans.  She is not biased.  You don’t need to follow Catholic values of “purity” or “goodness” to ask for her favor.  In death, we are all her children, and she will look over us all.  Because of this equality, many criminals and gangs also appeal to her for her good fortune. This has created a strong shadow over the Saint, and Her reputation in modern times registers great fear and danger in many people’s minds.

Important side note: If you don’t believe in this stuff, don’t worry. Believe in Saint Applesauce Kangaroo for all I care.  I’m truly not trying to convert anyone.  Just take this as an interesting story and cultural study.  

Other Important side note for witches: Be very clear about which form you are calling a spirit or deity in. Over time, the Church and patriarchal fears have perverted many Beings into demons, and being vague in your invocations can draw them in that state. This was a very valuable lesson a beloved passed on to me.

Back to our regularly scheduled blog.

When I first got into all things magic-related, my 101 training was understanding the cycles of life. Life, Death, Rebirth.  Basic. Unavoidable.  Yet this concept plays itself out within life itself, and it’s not always literal.  While in relationship with a Death saint, I had to figure out what that meant pretty quickly so that I didn’t drown.

Okay, well I was gonna drown anyway.

But I wanted to know what the point of my drowning was so I didn’t miss the learning opportunity.

When I want to consider the multifaceted nature of death, my mind often brings up the image of the Death card from the Tarot.  The following excerpt is a basic description stolen from Biddytarot.com:

Death is symbolic of the ending of a major phase or aspect of your life that may bring about the beginning of something far more valuable and important. You must close one door in order to open another. You need to put the past behind you and part ways, ready to embrace new opportunities and possibilities. It may be difficult to let go of the past at times, but you will soon see how important it is so that you can bring renewal and transformation into your life. If you resist these necessary endings, you may experience pain, both emotionally and physically but if you exercise your creative imagination and visualize a new possibility, you allow more constructive patterns to emerge.

Similarly, Death indicates a time of significant transformation, change and transition. You need to profoundly transform yourself and clear away any of the old in order to bring in the new. Any change at this time should be welcomed as a positive, cleansing, transformative force in your life. The death and clearing away of limiting factors can open the door to a wider, more satisfying experience of life.

The Death card contains elements of a sudden and unexpected change. You may feel as though you are caught in the path of sweeping change and cannot escape its effects. Though the immediate thought is toward the negative, an end need not mean failure. The loss could be a series of unexpected surprises that bring an end to a period of turmoil or problems. You feel you can no longer go along with the status quo and want things to change radically. Many changes are going to take place to enable a new direction to emerge.

Finally, Death is an indication that you need to learn to let go of unhealthy attachments in your life to pave the way to a fuller, more fulfilled life of deeper meaning and significance. Death teaches you to let go of outworn and outgrown ways of life and move forward. This is a perfect card to use to break a bad habit or pattern of behaviour. This is a time of eliminating excess and cutting out what is not necessary in your life. This may be a good time to purge old belongings, memories and ‘baggage’ that is getting in your way.

For me, this is coming up in an intense way with my lifelong history of self-sabotage.  As I progress further into living a fulfilling life, it’s clear that those old patterns will no longer do.  Unfortunately (fortunately), in order to undo a lifetime of damage, I need to figuratively die. How the hell am I supposed to accomplish ANYTHING with all of these crippling beliefs?  And so I ask myself every day, probably as some Yogi tea tag once suggested:

“what must I let die today so something else can live?”

Because I’m done. I’m all set. I’m ready to get off this ride. This is not working anymore.

For the first two weeks of this current trip to Mexico, I had my ass handed to me, as if I thought that wouldn’t happen.  I knew it was part of the death process. My inner fears and blocks were coming up in a heavy way, and Mexico was forcing me to sit in it. No matter how many times I cried uncle, she wouldn’t let up.  Just because I wanted to be done didn’t mean I was actually done. I felt a deep loneliness that would not quit and only got worse until it became impossible to turn away from.  I was being asked to look at it and really be present with it.  I thought about Santa Muerte, and how she’s a Saint to all, light and shadow, good and bad.  She’s the mother who will hold every child and kiss their forehead.  I considered Her, and what would happen if I just held these “dark” pieces like children, without judgement.  As soon as it did that, things began to move.  Prior to arriving here, I had a feeling lodged in my throat that I needed to cry.  I felt like I needed to grieve something, but I didn’t know what, and nothing was moving. So when I felt this movement upon being present with loneliness, I realized that what I was trying to grieve was the closing of this recent chapter of my life.  But no, not yet.  My body and mind were still hanging on for dear life out of fear, so I still couldn’t quite emotionally release.

The tiny movement led me to sit in ritual for three days leading up to Dia de Los Muertos, figuring I’d be a bad witch if I didn’t take advantage of the thin veil and presence of the ancestors.  Every night I worked to bring healing to family patterns and karma, which brought me even greater understanding around why I do what I do now as an adult. On the third day, I snapped.  So many frustrations, insecurities and conflicts came to a head all at once, and my heart cracked open.  The grieving I had wanted to do finally came out, and it flooded me so intensely that I’m surprised I didn’t levitate. It felt like an exorcism.  I was contorted and pleading with the universe to let it all go.  When the crying stopped, I didn’t feel refreshed.  I didn’t really feel anything besides empty. I had strength, but not the kind of strength where you can build something.  It was the strength to say “no more”; to allow a container to hold the presence of death.

In that moment, I no longer had fear of the unknown.  I crossed over my pain and into acceptance.  Understanding that the pain of loss was what held me in fear, the absence of it made newness feel welcome.  

This, of course, was temporary.  However, when you know that a feeling is possible, you learn how to channel your energy to get back there.  I set out on an adventure to Guerrero, where Katia had been invited to perform at the closing night gala for the Latin American Body Piercing conference.  She knew I was hoping to start a piercing apprenticeship in the spring, and we’ve been talking about collaborating on a performance for a while, so she was generous enough to invite me to come along with her and be a part of the show. The organizers of the event were incredible, and they hooked us up with a hotel and food for the week.  When I started out on the road I was feeling a bit fragile from the emotional explosion earlier, but still excited to get to the event.

After a sleazy, predatory Uber ride in 40 minutes of traffic jams, a junky trying to open my door and get in the car with me to beg for money (that my Uber driver just shrugged at), and a 2.5 hr bus ride that turned into 4 hours of switchbacks and the kind of nausea that makes you black out, I arrived in Taxco.  I’m not sure how I got to my room because I was so disoriented, but I’m so grateful to the taxi driver for taking pity on me and offering to help me in my wet noodle state.  Once the nausea subsided, I went exploring in the hotel to find food and the rest of the event.  I happened to make it in time for the last 15 minutes of the last class of the day, which was on genital piercings. Oh good, I made it just in time for dick pics! The comic relief lifted my mood, and afterwards I was able to grab dinner with some friendly folks before promptly returning to my room to pass the eff out.

Once I got into bed, I made sure to say, “thank you” to myself.  I don’t think we do this enough.  I reviewed the entire day and the physical trials I had been through: the cortisol attack from several panic attacks, running around the city doing errands, packing, climbing up and down stairs carrying multiple bags, finding food, getting sick, and navigating my needs and reservations in a foreign language.  I got through it.  Thank you, body, for getting us through that! I thought about the intense emotions of the day, and how I navigated those without losing myself. Thank you, body, for getting us through that, too! I thanked the universe for keeping me safe.  Being in the Uber was really scary.  Being a small woman traveling alone at night to one of the more dangerous states in Mexico, who clearly isn’t local and doesn’t have a solid grasp on the language, is really scary. All of that, plus being out-of-my-gourd sick at the same time.  I would be foolish not to count my lucky stars.  I considered for a few minutes that perhaps I sell myself short on how strong I actually am.

If this were fiction, I’d tell you that I fell softly and deeply to sleep.  That’s not true, though.  Everyone was partying and I didn’t really get much rest, but I still woke up feeling pretty good about embracing the day.  I took some classes, did some work, and met some rad peeps.  Katia was finally able to make it to town, so we met up and went exploring around the convention together.  It was a good space to take my transforming self for a test drive. Could I be in a new space with new people, and not lead with my sexuality? Could I feel worthy of taking up space in a social environment?  Would people accept me just for being a nice person, not because I could do something for them?  If I was rejected, could I allow it to wash over me and not take it so personally? Could I find pauses in my day where I had relief from social anxiety all together, and just focus on my work and taking classes?  Who am I without some belief about how I’m supposed to be presenting? Is it okay to not give a damn about someone’s ranking, and just walk up and chat up anyone interesting, because human interaction just shouldn’t be that complicated?

As the days went by, I played with those questions and found mixed results.  It’s clear that I’m still adjusting to myself, which naturally comes with ups and downs, celebrations and discoveries.  I got my period on Halloween, which was a bit surprising because it was early.  Even though I was in a bit of pain, I still embraced it with excitement.  The morning after it started, I took a class on Mesoamerican body modification rituals.  Naturally, we covered a lot about blood sacrifice, which felt rather appropriate at the time.  I was pretty psyched to be able to make my own blood offering for the three solid days of Los Muertos celebrations.  One of the greatest points of this class, however, was the conversation about pain. People in the body modification industry understand pain differently than the average person, I think.  They work with it so frequently and intimately that they learn how to use it as a jump-off point to altered or transformative states, and how to hold space for others who want to enter that space, as well. The lecturer discussed how in these Mesoamerican cultures, pain through body modification was the cost for communing with the gods or deeper selves, and how this is also symbolic of pain in the emotional body’s transitions and experiences.  I allowed myself to sink into my cramps and really reflect on my current experience with death.  I was still in it, but hearing this information released more of the fight from me. I settled deeper and embraced it more in gratitude.  I gave myself permission to keep pushing in the areas that would bring me greater strength, but to also gracefully turn down opportunities that did not feel in line with my desires or energy levels.

Time went by too fast, and all of a sudden it was already the closing gala where Katia and I would perform.  The concept of the piece was to ask the audience, “how can we be so occupied with making body art while there are so many dead and missing bodies in Mexico?” Katia would act as a severed head on a banquet table, while I walked around as an overly-sexualized and objectified embodiment of superficial desire and distraction, feeding the crowd bites of food that represented different territories, while the dead laid out “unnoticed”.  In the end, Katia began to speak, chanting a prayer to the dead as she was pierced to draw blood as an offering.  The needles were replaced with ferns, representing rebirth.

It was very powerful, and an absolute honor to share the stage with such a master.  Not only is she a master performer, but she was also the first female body piercer in the modern Mexican piercing world.  So many lifetimes and countless stories within that woman.  So naturally, when she came down hard on me after the show, I listened.

Okay, I argued a little. But I came around.

When she asked me how I felt, I mentioned that I had focused so much on being her assistant that I forgot to prepare myself for the performance, and that I started off smaller than I should have been.  She laid into me about ego traps as a performer, and the importance of not competing. We were lost in translation for a good part of that, I think, because we were sort of talking about separate things. But I still took time and reflected on her words.  I always tell myself that I’m not competitive.  I don’t try to outshine or take things from other people.  If anything, I always try to shrink or devalue myself to avoid conflict, which often leads to bitter feelings.  I realized that this, too, is a side of competition. I considered again Santa Muerte’s general, non-biased compassion, and how this could apply to navigating my own shadows.  For every trait I say I don’t have, do I actually possess its opposite, and therefor I still end up feeding it?  If an undesirable trait is merely repressed and not actually cleansed from the system, does it simply manifest in other forms that could be perceived as other things but is actually the same?

I think yes.

I took this concept and applied it to all parts of my life and all of my fears.  I considered my overwhelming fear of failed art, and pondered the idea that perhaps there is even no such thing as a bad performance, that every expression has a valuable impact.  Can you be so kind that you’re controlling? Can you be so selfless that you’re greedy?

More death.

More and more death.

On the bus ride back to Mexico City (now with 100% vitamin Dramamine), I contemplated my endless quest for betterment, and how I feel like I can never quite get there.  I thought about a conversation Katia had had with another piercer about how it’s impossible to expect any human to be fully pure.  I thought about my Westernized mindset, how “if I just take this pill” or “if I just do this thing”, everything will be instantly cured.  I overanalyzed myself to sleep, combing and picking over every interaction, every thought, and every fear over the last week.  I needed to understand all of it, because I thought that maybe if I did, I could finally figure out how to complete the process and move forward.  But when I got back to my apartment, the loneliness crept back in.  The anger, resentments and anxiety all came flooding back in.  What the hell was missing?? I thought I figured it out! Two days in a row, I pulled the Death card in the Tarot.  I felt like it was mocking me.

“GAH! I KNOW! I’M TRYING! DO YOU HAVE AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL??”

I sunk into despair and decided to call my therapist for backup. I needed a death midwife to help me through.  She laughed with me a bit, and reminded me that I’m not supposed to know, and I’m not supposed to control it.  I’m supposed to surrender; that surrender is the only ticket to death, and therefor rebirth. Oddly enough, I was comforted by this reminder.  Duh, right? Reflecting back on the past few months, and then the past couple weeks, anytime I experienced genuine change or movement was when I threw my hands up and surrendered.  It’s hard, and it doesn’t usually happen until I’m completely at my wit’s end, but I need to let go.  I want to let go.  I have old attachments and perceived obligations that I’m terrified to lose or fuck up, but so long as I hold on, I’ll keep being stuck playing this game on loop. I’m so tired of overcoming. I’m just ready to live.

In two days I fly back to the United States.  I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel or what to expect.  I have no idea what coming back to Mexico will be after that. While my childish side wants to say that I give up, I don’t necessarily like that wording because it implies defeat.  There’s immense power and hope in surrendering.  I’m gonna keep working on that.

[knockoutxo]

11-4-17 AM

So I just got one whole hour of sleep and now I have to go to work for 8 hours and I am truly going to be so annoyed and dead inside that I don’t know how I’m going to make it. Why is it always when you need sleep the most your mind won’t let you have it? I should be getting ready for work right now but I’m deadass going in with no makeup on cause it’s just too early for anyone’s shit. So I’m listening to music in bed just trying to mentally prepare myself for putting up with peoples shit today. I’m literally gonna get up, brush my teeth, get dressed, put my glasses on and leave. Probably gonna be late since I’m waiting for my laundry to dry also. You would think in my many hours of laying awake mindlessly I would have thought to switch it over earlier but I suppose not. I have a dinner date with this guy later too and I need to go home and nap before that so I’m not a complete bitch and scare him away. The thought of being at work is nauseating me. Just realized that the guy I really like is currently in New York for a wedding. (Yeah not the guy I’m getting dinner with tonight.) He’s in New York and so far I haven’t gotten any texts about him thinking of me because he’s in my city. I’m at this point where I don’t think I’ll ever see this guy again. So there’s really no use in him texting me. A girl can dream though. My advice to anyone who reads this is don’t catch feels when you casually meet the lead singer of one of your favorite bands from middle school and he invites you back to his hotel room and you guys sit and talk for hours and spend the night together and then you drive to LA to see him again a month later for only a few hours. Ya don’t do that. I love emotionally unavailable men. 37 year old divorced former rock star ? I’m in. Sounds just like my type. I make myself available to unavailable men. There’s no chance in the world that this guy who is about to go on tour in Europe and lives in a different state on the other side of the country is going to ever cross your path again. No chance that he gives a single fuck honestly either. I’d put money on him never talking to me again. Which sucks because we talked so much over the past month and he seemed so dope. But he is far more logical than I in pulling away. He even did that sad kiss you on the forehead thing when I said bye in LA. Sometimes you can tell when it’s the last time you’ll see someone and I really think that was another last look in my collection. Which sucks because I can’t stop thinking about it (typical) but I guess how many people can say they had something as dope as this happen to them. I still have his number. If he’s ever back in town I can hit him up and mooch some free tickets at least. And he’s about to make a shit ton of new music with Steve aoki and the chainsmokers so luckily I met him when I did. This man owes me some festival tickets for the way I rocked his world. Hahahahaha but really.

Okay this is not fair I should not be going to work right now it’s not even light out yet. How am I supposed to leave in ten minutes when I can’t even move from my bed. I hate that my anxiety just had me run through everything going on in my life before an 8 hour shift on one hour of sleep. Boy it’s gonna be a long day. And it’s just so fucking slow so I cannot even fathom being at work because of how not worth it it is. I’m gonna sit around while the annoying cook tries to talk to me and he weirds me out. I have 0 patience for that today. If anyone asks me to make a Bloody Mary I will carve an X into my hand and bleed into their drink. Okay I deff won’t do that that was hella dramatic but that’s how I will feel. I hate bloody Mary’s. I hate making them. They smell awful why the fuck would anyone want all that thick ass soup looking shit in their alcohol?! I’m supposed to leave in 5 mins. Looks like that’s not happening. I open by myself so I really don’t care if I’m late. Ain’t nobody gonna say shit. I need to go to the store after work today. But I will probably be so sleep deprived that I will once again forget. This whole blogging thing is actually quite therapeutic. Maybe I should’ve tried writing down all my thoughts earlier. Trying to decide whether to bring my poetry book to work and write? Or my Motley Crue book that I’m reading? I just strongly believe if I bring my Motley Crue book than the cook will try to bond with me about it and I do not want that at all. For all he knows I have terrible taste in music and do not talk about it with anyone. I can’t give him a bridge to talk to me. But I know he is going to. Maybe I’ll go hide in the arcade area. I could mess around and take a nap on the back couches. I would love that. I could sit and write another blog post. Which I may do because I’ll be so fucking bored. Okay I’m gonna get up for work now. Wish me luck on this day while I die at work, go on a date with a guy I kinda like while still not being able to get rockstar guy off my mind, and hopefully eventually get some sleep. I’m all over the place.